An Organ of Fire
by Kristen Elizabeth
Summary: We at Hogwarts wish to extend you an invitation to be our next Defense Against the Dark Arts teacher. PS: It is time to come home, Harry.
1. Summoning Charm

Disclaimer: Harry Potter and company do not belong to me and I am making no money off of this fic. I promise. Cross my heart and hope to die.  
  
Author's Notes: This is my first Harry Potter fic...be gentle; it's my first time. I just started reading the series, couldn't put it down, in fact. I simply fell in love with J.K. Rowling's world. I hope this story lives up to it.  
  
Dedication: To my Ravenclaw brother, Hufflepuff mother, fellow Gryffindor friends and Slytherin cousin. Thank you for being "Pot-heads" with me. And to Alan-san, for declaring "holy mother of god that's a huge book" in front of my entire Japanese class while I was reading "Goblet of Fire", thus alerting them to the fact that a 21 year old English major is totally hooked on Harry Potter.  
  
****  
  
An Organ of Fire  
by Kristen Elizabeth  
  
****  
  
The owl swooped through the open cottage window and landed with an impressive show of wings on the windowsill. It cooed once and then twice, trying to alert the cottage's only occupant as to its presence and the piece of parchment tied to its leg.  
  
But the man seated at the tiny table, watching the cheerful fire he had conjured up only minutes earlier, did not look up at the owl. "You can go back to your owner," he said in a low voice. "I do not wish to hear from anyone."   
  
Tilting its head to the side, the owl continued to watch the man, but made no motion to fly off into the night sky.   
  
"Did you hear me?" The man finally swung his head over to see the bird on his windowsill. "I said..." He trailed off. "Hedwig?"  
  
The stark white owl cooed in response. Spreading her wings, she took off and flew the short distance to the man's shoulder. Once she landed, she nipped the man's ear affectionately and lifted the leg onto which the parchment paper was tied.   
  
"I was serious," the man said, almost regretfully. "Go back to whoever sent you, Hedwig."  
  
She bleated loudly. Her claws dug into his shoulder, refusing to let go.  
  
He sighed in defeat. With shaky fingers, he untied the letter from the owl's leg and spread it open. After a moment, he began to read.  
  
*  
  
Dear Mr. Potter,  
  
We at Hogwarts find ourselves in a bit of a quandary. As the new school year approaches, we are sad to lose, yet again, our current professor in the subject of Defense Against the Dark Arts. Having the experience in this field that we know you do, we wish to extend you a heartfelt invitation to return to England and take over this position. We can discuss such things as salary and contracts upon your return. Do please consider our offer. There is a great deal of good to be done.  
  
Sincerely,   
  
Minerva McGonagall  
  
Deputy Headmistress and Professor at Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry  
  
PS: It is time to come home, Harry.   
  
*  
  
There was a long moment wherein only the crackle of the fire could be heard throughout the cottage. Hedwig preened her feathers as her former owner read and re-read the letter. After she had given him sufficient time, the owl lifted her head and looked at him expectantly.  
  
"I can't go back there," Harry told her flatly. "It's been too long."  
  
Hedwig continued to stare at him, without blinking.  
  
"I left because I didn't want this, you know." He stood up and began pacing across the floor in front of the hearth. "Don't you understand? I left all of this behind."  
  
The owl tipped her head to the side again, studying him with beady eyes.  
  
"Was that wrong of me, Hedwig? Thoughtless? Selfish?" Harry closed his eyes for a minute. "If I go back, I'll just muck up their lives." Hedwig cooed, reassuringly. Suddenly, he smiled. It was the first time he had done so in years. He realized that he had made up his mind about this day a long time ago. "I expect they'll want an answer straight away?" The owl stepped off his shoulder and swooped over to his long forgotten writing desk.   
  
He walked to it and sat down. The quill was dusty and the ink needed a bit of water, but within a few minutes, he had begun to write.   
  
*  
  
Dear Professor McGonagall,  
  
Ten years isn't so terribly long unless you look back on it with regret. That being said, I take into consideration every year and every lamentation when I say, with as little hesitancy as possible, that I wish to accept the offered position at Hogwarts. I will arrive sometime next week to make the necessary arrangements.   
  
Thank you.  
  
Harry Potter  
  
PS: Please do not tell anyone that I am coming. Most especially Mr. and Mrs. Ronald Weasley.  
  
*  
  
After the ink dried, Harry carefully secured the letter to Hedwig's leg and held out his hand for her to step upon. He crossed back to the window and looked up at the star-sprinkled sky. If Hedwig flew all night, she should reach Hogwarts by their nightfall. "I'll see you soon," he told his old friend. She let out a cry and flew off, a spot of white against the formidable darkness, leaving Harry no time to regret his decision.   
  
All he could do was begin to pack.   
  
****  
  
"Professor? Professor?" The words pierced through the light fog around the slender woman's dozing mind. "Professor?" She squeezed her eyes shut, in a fruitless attempt to stay within her dreams.   
  
"'ERMIONE!!"  
  
She jolted awake. "What? What's wrong?"  
  
Rubeus Hagrid loomed over her work table, a look that was equal parts concern and exasperation on his rugged, bearded features. "Pleasant nap there, Professor?"  
  
Hermione rubbed the sleep out of her eyes. "I didn't mean to doze off....I suppose you're going to lecture me on late nights and early mornings, Hagrid?"  
  
"No such lecture," he promised. "Just a wee message from Professor McGonagall."  
  
"A message? What does she want?"  
  
Hagrid took a deep breath. "Yer might want to be sittin' fer this one."  
  
She gave him a half-smile. "I am sitting down."  
  
"Well then...I best be sittin' down." With a great creak from the aged wood, he sat down next to her. They were alone in the library; summer at Hogwarts was a quiet and often lonely time of year. Still, it afforded Hermione, the notorious bookworm, a chance to commune in peace with the literature of the greatest school of magic in the world.   
  
"Go on, Hagrid."   
  
After another deep breath, he let the news come out. "I shouldn't be tellin' yer as much as I am, mind yer. I was only supposed to tell yer that ye'll be needin' ter fetch the new Defense professor from 'ogsmeade today." He paused and looked blankly at the books surrounding them.  
  
"But..." she prompted.  
  
"But..." He scratched his beard. "I don't think it'd be fair ter send yer there not knowing who ye'll be fetchin' afore'and."  
  
Hermione's smooth forehead crinkled in puzzlement. "The new professor won't be arriving on the Express?"  
  
"No. Not this one." Hagrid's hands dropped to his lap. "Professor..." He switched back to a less formal tone. "Er...'ermione...it's 'arry."  
  
Her throat closed up. A sudden chill swept the room though no door or window was open. At the mere sound of his name, Hermione's entire body became quite stiff. "Harry," she repeated in a near whisper. "Harry's....coming back?"  
  
Hagrid watched her reactions closely, afraid of what the news might do to her. After all she had been through in the past year, the last thing he wanted to see was her in anymore agony or heartache. He knew, all too well, what she had suffered when Harry Potter had disappeared from their lives ten years earlier.  
  
How would she take his sudden return to the world?  
  
"Does he know, Hagrid? Has he been told about..."  
  
"No," Hagrid replied quickly. "As fer as I know, he don't."  
  
Hermione's hands trembled. She tucked them into her dark blue robes for warmth. But they were not shaking from cold. "I suppose it'll be up to me to tell him then. In person."  
  
"I'm thinkin' it might be best thet way."  
  
She seemed to be recovering a bit. But Hagrid didn't have to have known her for as long as he had to recognize that she was far from fine. She had been far from fine for far too long, in his opinion. Hermione cleared her throat. "This afternoon, you said? In Hogsmeade?"  
  
"Aye. Should be Appartin' in 'round three or so, Professor McGonagall suspects." Hagrid watched her for another second. "Yer sure yer up ter it?"  
  
"I'm up to it," she promised. Her expression darkened. "Of course....that's only one of the things I'll have to tell him if he's going to be living and working here. With us."  
  
Hagrid nodded. "Secret's been kept long enough. Time fer the truth."  
  
Hermione stood up, stretched delicately and began to close up her books. "I had better hurry if I'm to make it there by three." She gathered up her work. "Hagrid, will you keep an eye on..."  
  
"Surely," he agreed easily. Before she could walk away, he caught her wrist in a gentle grip. "It's fine if yer not all righ' with all er this. Yer don't have ter be playin' the part fer me, 'ermione."  
  
She gave him a weak smile. "Of course I'm all right with all of this. Harry Potter is returning to Hogwarts. We should all be happy. If you'll excuse me, Hagrid." She eased out his grip. "I have something to do before I leave for Hogsmeade."  
  
Hagrid's sad eyes followed her out of the library. "Yer may be all right on the outside, missy. But on the inside...yer still a bloody wreck."  
  
****  
  
A cold wind coming off the water blew Hermione's hair around her face. She made no attempt to keep it in check, having foregone with her usual severe bun. She never wore her hair up when she went to visit him; he had liked it down, bushy and untamed. Funny since at one time, he had teased her for its wildness.   
  
As she approached the edge of the cliff, she could hear the lake churning and crashing below. Behind her, the gothic grandness of Hogwarts towered, a comforting, if somewhat intimidating presence. She almost resented its intrusion. At the moment, she wished to be alone with her husband.   
  
The lone grave sat at the spot where the green grass gave way to gray rock. The marble marker was simple and classically cut, bearing only a name and two dates. Hermione knelt on the cold grass in front of the grave. With a small wave of her ever present wand, a single red rose materialized on the grave's gentle slope.   
  
"Harry is coming back." The wind threatened to carry her voice away. She spoke louder, as though the grave's occupant could hear her. "He is going to teach Defense Against the Dark Arts." She closed her eyes. "I suppose he's the most qualified person in the world to teach it."  
  
The grave was silent, but comforting.   
  
Hermione let out a pent-up breath. "I'm going to tell him, Ron. I know he must know about us....although I doubt he knows that you're....that you're not here anymore." A single tear danced down her cheek. "But I'm going to tell him about...everything. He has a right to know. They both do." She opened her eyes again. "Do you think that's the right thing to do, Ron?"  
  
Again there was reassuring silence.  
  
"I miss you so much," she whispered. "I wish you were right here. We'd be a team again. The Three Musketeers. Or Stooges, depending upon how you look at it." Hermione smiled and touched her husband's grave lovingly. "I'm going to go now." She stood up and looked at the stormy sky. "Wish me luck."  
  
****  
  
The town of Hogsmeade wasn't only unique in that it was the only one in England entirely inhabited by wizards and witches. After Harry had Apparated into the main square and begun re-familiarizing himself with the place in which he had spent so many happy, youthful moments, he was amused to realize that it was the only place in all the places he had been in ten years where you could find Weasleys' Wizard Wheezes.  
  
Honeydukes Sweetshop had not changed a bit in all the time Harry had been away, except that now, amongst all the boxes of Bertie Bott's Every Flavor Beans and the Chocolate Frogs, there were mounds of tempting-looking candies bearing the Weasley name. However, Harry thought as he fingered a Ton-Tongue Toffee, one would have to be crazy to buy the treats for themselves if they knew the candies' true nature beforehand.   
  
And he should know. Unbeknownst to most people, Harry had been a silent partner in company ever since his days at Hogwarts. Ever since he had won the Triwizard Tournament and given the thousand Galleon prize to the Weasley twins to start their business. No one knew he had done that. Not even the twins' brother, his oldest friend, Ron.   
  
Harry's hand involuntarily closed around a Chocolate Frog package. The thought of Ron Weasley still had a powerful, dangerous effect on him. Instantly, he chastised himself and released the package from his tight grip. Nothing that had happened in the ten years since they had parted ways at Hogwarts graduation had been Ron's fault. He had left the school, left the community, left the country...left her, and Ron had been the one to stay behind.  
  
No, all of Harry's regrets were his own cross to bear. He could not blame Ron for being happy. Happy with her. When the twins had let it slip that their brother had gotten married, it was just one more lamentation onto the pile that had started to accumulate on the day he left for points unknown. That was the last piece of news he had let slip through about her and Ron. Anything else, he had decided, would be too much to bear.  
  
"So why," he asked himself softly. "Are you here at all?"  
  
A sudden tap on his shoulder pulled him out of his reverie. A young girl, perhaps no more older than a fourth year student at Hogwarts, peered up at him with blatant wonder and curiosity on her pretty features. "Excuse me, sir," she addressed him. "But are you...Harry Potter?"  
  
Memory upon memory came flooding back to him, a wave of bittersweet nostalgia. How long had he gone without being recognized? He had moved about the Muggle world for ten years with the anonymity of a house fly, but now, back in the wizard world, he was once again Harry Potter. The Boy Who Lived.  
  
Before he could answer the young girl, someone grabbed his arm. An older man, as old as his parents would have been had they lived. "Gizzard's beard...you *are* Harry Potter!" A broad smile appeared on his face. "Everyone!" he called out. "Look! It's Harry Potter!"  
  
A buzz sprung up around the store. He was surrounded by whispers and stares, pointing fingers and curious stares. The walls were closing in again. Harry Potter was trapped by the simple act of being Harry Potter.  
  
"....see, Mummy? It's him!"  
  
"It's been years, simply years..."  
  
"...looks a good bit older, don't he? Still the same Harry...."  
  
"Why do you suppose he's come back? It's not anything to do with You-Know..."  
  
"....heard he's been asked to teach at the school. Charms, I think. Or maybe Potions."  
  
"But is it really him? I can't see his scar..."  
  
"....is it truly..."  
  
"Can it really be...."  
  
"Harry."   
  
The last voice, so precise and yet so sweet, was achingly familiar. Harry slowly turned around to see its owner as she made her way through the now-quiet crowd. Hermione Granger....Hermione Weasley, he corrected himself, stopped just in front of him. Her arms were folded lightly across the bright blue cotton of her robes. Besides the tightness of her lips, ten years had been nothing but good to her.   
  
Swallowing back a thick lump that suddenly formed in his throat, he managed to get out her name. "Hermione."  
  
Her eyes were strangely haunted. So large, but so very nearly empty. She spoke again, in a voice he had never heard. "Welcome home, Harry."  
  
****  
  
To Be Continued 


	2. Truth Serum

Disclaimer: I wish I had half the imagination it took to create this world. As I don't, not much belongs to me.  
  
Author's Notes: A very large "thank you" to everyone who reviewed the first part. I'm glad you liked it and I hope I don't disappoint you with the rest of the story.  
  
****  
  
An Organ of Fire  
by Kristen Elizabeth  
  
****  
  
"The heart is an organ of fire." -The English Patient  
  
****  
  
The short carriage ride to Hogwarts from Hogsmeade began in unbearable silence. Harry stared out at the familiar scenery, lost in the beauty of the countryside, lest he get lost in the woman seated across from him. She had spoken no more words than were necessary to get him and his belongings onto the Hogwarts Express. Yet, she had been watching him out of the corner of her eye ever since. Mustering up all of his courage, Harry opened his mouth.  
  
"How is..."  
  
She started at the same time. "Why have you...." They both stopped. Harry nodded, indicating that Hermione should go on. She took a breath. "Why have you come back, Harry?"  
  
It was the one question he could barely answer for himself, much less for her. Almost without thinking, he reached up to rub the lightning shaped scar, his only reminder of the day his parents had died for him. "I can't answer that anymore than you can explain why you've never left," he replied. Before he could stop himself, he continued. "Or why you married him."  
  
Her back stiffened. Harry didn't seem to notice her lower lip trembling. "I've not left because my life is here. I have a job I love, people I care for...I don't want to leave. I haven't ever wanted to leave." She sank deeper into her seat. "You were the restless one, Harry. Not me. And not him, either."  
  
"Ron wanted to see the world," Harry commented. He turned an intense emerald gaze on her. "Does he still? Or does he enjoy the stable home life?"  
  
"I wouldn't know. He died last year."  
  
The words hung in the air between them. Sometime during the silence, Harry forgot to keep breathing. He had to remind himself. **Breathe in, breathe out. Breathe in, Ron is dead. Breathe out, your best friend is gone.**  
  
Hermione bit her lip. "I'm sorry. I didn't mean to tell you like that."  
  
His mouth was painfully dry, odd since his eyes were wet. "How did he...? Why is he...?" Unable to get the questions out, Harry turned his tearful stare onto Hermione. "Why didn't anyone tell me before?"  
  
"Do you think that we didn't try?" Her stare was equally teary and just as hard. "I cannot count the number of owls I have sent to you in ten years, Harry. Every single one of them returned, without the letters having been so much as touched. If not for Hedwig coming back, we would have had no sure way of getting you to reply...ever."  
  
Harry's stomach ached with grief. It was all he could do to maintain control of his emotions. "If I had known....I would have come. Even if only to say goodbye..." He closed his eyes. "Did he go quickly or was it expected?"  
  
"Quickly," Hermione replied in a softer tone. She wiped her cheeks. "It was an accident. We were pretending to be Muggles for a day. Some scaffolding on the street collapsed. He pushed us out of the way and tried to stop it, but he didn't have his wand..." She trailed off. "It was an accident."  
  
Harry refrained from saying anything further, but something about her story nagged at him. "'Us'?" he repeated. "Who was with you?"  
  
Skillfully dodging his question, Hermione sat up straighter. "There's the station up ahead."  
  
"Hermione..."  
  
"I should probably tell you a few things before we get there," she rambled on, ignoring him. "First of all, yes, Dumbledore is still in charge, thank goodness. And of course, Hagrid still tends the grounds and teaches Care of Magical Creatures."  
  
Harry allowed himself a small smile at that. "What does he have in store for the students this year?"  
  
She adjusted her robes nervously. "I believe it's Colsamkisk Skeets. Either that or Fiji mermaids. All I've seen is a lot of water being pulled from the lake." The carriage lurched to a stop and they stood up to collect Harry's few bags. "Before you ask, yes, Snape is still teaching Potions. Don't worry, he won't be after your job. He tried Defense for about five years, before realizing that Potions was his true calling in life. Nothing gives that man more pleasure than coming up with new ways to poison people."   
  
He followed her, stepping down from the carriage only seconds after she had. "Hermione, you haven't told me what you're teaching. You are a professor, are you not?" She nodded. "Don't tell me; let me guess. Transfiguration."  
  
"Of course not." Hermione rolled her eyes. "McGonagall will have that position until she becomes one of the ghosts."  
  
"All right then." He thought hard. Anything was better than thinking about Ron. "Charms?" She shook her head. "Arithmancy?"  
  
Despite herself, she smiled. "Think really hard, Harry."  
  
"I've got it," he announced a moment later. "Divination."  
  
She rolled her eyes. "The History of Magic."   
  
Harry gave her a look. "What about..."  
  
"Even ghosts retire eventually."  
  
Harry looked up at the towers for the first time in ten years. They were as impressive as they had been when he had seen them from across the lake on the first night of his first year at Hogwarts. It was nice to know that no matter what else changed in his life, this place would always, always be the same. "What did Ron teach?" he asked her, quietly.   
  
"He didn't." Without bothering to wait for Harry, Hermione started for the port trellis entrance. "He was an Auror."  
  
****  
  
Throughout seven years spent at Hogwarts as a student, Harry had never once stopped to consider where the Professors resided during the school year, much less during the summer. Although he had been in all of their offices at one time or another, the idea of them having rooms or apartments within the castle was one he had never pondered. So the part of the castle Hermione was leading him through was completely unfamiliar. It seemed, as far as he could guess, to be a good distance away from the dormitories. The hallways and corridors on this side were still extremely similar to the ones he had practically grown up in. The paintings aligning the walls called out to him as he passed, waving and winking.  
  
Hermione ignored them all until they reached a particularly large portrait of an elegant woman from what looked to be the early-nineteenth century. She put a hand on the hip of her empire gown as they stopped in front of her. "I have a few words to say to you," she addressed Hermione in a haughty voice.  
  
"Oh, do you, Miss Belle?" Hermione crossed her arms. "And what insight do you have today?"  
  
"You know what I'm talking about. Him." She said the word with such loathing that Harry recoiled slightly. Miss Belle looked at him. "Oh, not you, sir." She gave him a dazzling smile. "Not you, Harry Potter." Her hard gaze turned back to Hermione. "She knows of whom I speak. He was running up and down the corridors again, scaring everyone to death. I do not stand here for my health nor to be opened and shut, opened and shut again at the whim of a..."  
  
Hermione cut her off quickly. "White oleander." When the password was spoken, the noble woman closed her mouth and the portrait door swung open revealing a longer, wider and even more richly furnished hallway. "These are the Professors' apartments," she explained to him as they started down it. "Everyone except Hagrid lives here; he still prefers to stay on the grounds."  
  
Harry's head still hurt, a low throbbing in the base of his neck that had appeared the moment he learned of Ron's death. Everything was so overwhelming. It felt as though he were trying to catch up on ten years in the space of ten minutes, which, he supposed, was exactly what he was doing. He had no wish to learn anything more at the moment, but his curiosity had been mounting.   
  
"Hermione...who was the portrait woman talking about?"  
  
Once more, she chose to ignore him. "Here we are. This is where you'll be staying." She handed him a large, wrought iron key. "Go on in. Your bags are already there."  
  
Harry let himself into his new home with only a shade of hesitancy. As soon as he entered, he relaxed. The first room looked much like the Gryffindor common room. Comfortable chairs and couches, a roaring fire and a staircase that he assumed led to his bedroom. He looked around for a long minute. Hermione watched him carefully.   
  
"Shall I give you a moment?" she asked.   
  
He shook his head, dark locks swung across his scarred forehead. "Where do you live?"  
  
"Just down the hall." Harry waited for the invitation, but it did not come. Instead, she cleared her throat. "Come on, then. We're expected at a staff meeting before supper." She left no room for questions.   
  
Although Harry suspected she had plenty of answers.  
  
****   
  
Harry was flooded with disappointment as he entered the eerily empty Great Hall. All of the Professors, some he recognized, some he did not, had gathered there, but Professor Dumbledore was not amongst them. Hermione left his side before he could ask where the beloved wizard was; she seemed to be headed for....Hagrid.   
  
Hagrid. Harry smiled broadly. There was no time for him to follow her to their old friend; he felt a hand on his shoulder and turned around suddenly.   
  
Professor McGonagall looked back at him from behind her spectacles. "I expect you've already been properly welcomed back," she greeted him, warmly.   
  
"Well...let's just say I'm here." Harry scratched his cheek. Somehow, he still felt like a first year student around his old teacher. "Professor..."  
  
She held up her hand. "It's Minerva when we're not around the students, Harry."  
  
"That's going to take a bit of getting used to." Blushing, he continued with his question. "Where is Dumbledore?"  
  
"He got called into a Ministry meeting in London," she replied. She studied him for another second. "Harry...have you been told about..."  
  
"Ron? Yes." His expression soured. "She told me on the train."  
  
Professor McGonagall lifted an aged eyebrow. "She's been in a great deal of pain for the past year, Harry. If she seems cool, it's certainly understandable. To lose a husband so young..."  
  
He nodded. "I still feel that there's something else, though. Something she's not telling me."  
  
"Well..." She smiled nervously. "Just remember that you've been gone a long time." With those simple words, the Professor excused herself and started for the head of the hall.   
  
Once again, he tried to make his way over to Hermione and Hagrid, who appeared to be deep in conversation, but he was again stopped. This time, it was Severus Snape in his way.   
  
"Mr. Potter," the older man said in a tone only he could produce. Harry braced himself for some sort of insult, very nearly forgetting that all animosity between him and his old teacher should be long gone. Snape surprised him by simply saying, "Welcome back," before taking his seat.   
  
He blinked. "Thank you." His gaze drifted back over to Hagrid and Hermione. Why hadn't Hagrid come over to greet him? Just what were they talking about so intensely? He had no time to find out. Right then, Professor McGonagall rapped loudly on the head table and indicated for them all to take their seats.   
  
"Thank you all for coming tonight. I know you're very busy what with the new term beginning and the students arriving the day after tomorrow."  
  
Harry's face became quite pale. Two days? How could he have forgotten when the terms began at Hogwarts? He began to panic. He would need lesson plans, book lists, a classroom....how could get all of that together in only two days?   
  
McGonagall seemed to read his mind. "I'm sure you all know by now who our new Defense instructor shall be. Let's all give a warm welcome to Mr. Harry Potter." A round of light applause sprung up. Harry nodded in response; hopefully his panic was not evident on his face. "Being new, *Professor* Potter is going to need a bit of help from all of us. I expect you all remember what your first terms were like." There was a wave of murmurs and looks of sympathy.   
  
"All right then," she continued. "First order of business, new House assignments. I know this might come as a bit of a shock, but I am getting older and with my other duties, not to mention classes, I don't feel I will have time this year to head Gryffindor. Therefore, we will need to select a new Head for the House. Any volunteers?"  
  
Harry could feel all eyes swing to him. He scratched his cheek again; it was becoming a nervous habit. "I...er...that is to say..." he began.  
  
"I'll do it." Hermione's voice was clear throughout the hall. "I was in Gryffindor, as well."  
  
Professor McGonagall looked at her with much concern. "Hermione, are you sure? It's a great responsibility, which isn't to say you're not up to it. But considering everything..." She stopped, as though afraid she might be saying too much. "I have an idea. Why don't you and Harry head Gryffindor together? It's a tad unorthodox, but we are a progressive school."  
  
Harry's eyes darted to Hermione for her reaction. She seemed to be biting her tongue, holding back an objection. After a second, she gave a curt nod. McGonagall looked at Harry, expectantly. He, too, nodded.   
  
"Good. That's settled then. Now, next piece of business..." McGonagall looked down at her notes before taking off her glasses. Harry recognized her serious voice. "I know there have been rumors about the school council and a certain issue they are currently debating. I just want to reassure everyone that Dumbldore will never allow that plan to take effect. He'd rather close the school first."   
  
Harry glanced around. Was anyone else as confused as him? He caught Hermione's eye. She immediately looked away, but not before he caught something in the centers of her eyes.   
  
Fear.  
  
McGonagall replaced her glasses on the bridge of her nose. "Moving on. Weekend trips to Hogsmeade. Should we begin to allow second years to go if they are in a group, accompanied by one of us? Severus, I believe you had something you wanted to say about that?"  
  
Snape stood and began to speak against the proposal. But Harry paid him no mind. His attention was focused entirely on Hermione, as though he could extract the answers to all his questions merely by staring at her long enough. To her credit, she ignored his stare with the same skills she had used to dodge his questions.   
  
Sighing in defeat, Harry settled in for Snape's long diatribe.  
  
****  
  
After supper was finished and the few dishes magically cleaned, Hermione stood up from her table. Harry seemed to be occupied talking to Professor Flitwick. It seemed the perfect time to make her escape back to her apartments.   
  
Hagrid looked at her; with her stand and him seated, his eyes were level with hers. "Ye'll be goin' then?"  
  
She nodded. "I shouldn't have been gone this long. Mrs. Plumb is going to have my neck." On impulse, she kissed Hagrid's weathered cheek. "Good night."  
  
Careful to be unobtrusive, Hermione slipped out of the Great Hall and started off towards the apartments. She intended to go straight to hers, but she was stopped along the way by the apparition of Nearly Headless Nick, the resident Gryffindor ghost.  
  
Hermione smiled politely. "Good evening, Sir Nick. How are you?"  
  
"Depressed," he announced dramatically.   
  
"You don't have to explain. The people who run the hunt are being very unfair to you, Nick," she sympathized. "If it makes you feel any better, you'll always be completely headless to me."  
  
The ghost grinned. "Thank you very much, Professor Weasley." His voice dropped. "Is it true that Harry Potter has returned? And that you and he will be Head of the House this year?"  
  
"The walls have ears," Hermione sighed. "Yes, it's all true."  
  
Nick laughed delightedly. "Finally! Perhaps he can wipe away that frown on your face."  
  
She crossed her arms. "Any frown on my face is well deserved. And I don't think it's your place to..."  
  
"Hogwash!" Nick declared. "There's been too much sadness around here! Harry Potter comes back..." He began to fade. "...and the sun shines once more."  
  
As soon as Nick was gone, Hermione narrowed her eyes. "Harry Potter comes back and everyone forgets that he left in the first place."  
  
When she reached the portrait door, she quickly spoke the password before Miss Belle could begin another lecture. The door opened; she stepped in and came face to face with the Boy Who Lived.   
  
"Why are you avoiding me?" Harry asked, without greeting or ceremony.   
  
Hermione rolled her eyes. "As ever, it's all about you, isn't it?" She walked past him.   
  
"Just what does that mean?"  
  
"Never mind, Harry. If you don't get it by now, you never will."   
  
Harry followed her closely, a bit too closely for her comfort. "I'm trying very hard here, Hermione. I just learned that my best friend on this earth died a year ago and while everyone else may be healed or healing, I'm still processing it! But I can't, not really, because I have to prepare for seven levels of classes that begin the day after tomorrow." He ran a hand through his hair. "And then there's you."  
  
She turned on him. "What about me?"  
  
"I don't know!" Harry lifted his shoulders. "I feel like I should be apologizing every time I see you! And there's something big...something you're trying to keep from me."  
  
Hermione sniffed. "I can put the past in the past, Harry. You have nothing to apologize for."  
  
"Maybe I should anyways." He reached out to her. "Stop...talk to me."   
  
"Oh, you want to talk, do you?" Not even trying to hide her bitterness, Hermione snapped at him. "It's a bit late for that, isn't it? You had plenty of time to talk...when I sent all those owls to you ten years ago. But did you read them? No, you didn't. And now you just show up and expect answers? Well, I'm sorry, Harry, but I'm not just going to hand them to you!" She stopped in front of his door. "See you in the morning...unfortunately."  
  
He refused to enter his apartment, though. Refused to end things like they were. "Is this all because I left? All right...I should have kept in contact. For that, I am very sorry. But you don't understand what I..."  
  
"No, you don't understand," she hissed. "If you think you can just waltz into our lives and..."  
  
"I'm not waltzing!" Harry yelled. "I've wanted to come back for a long while. I just couldn't admit it to myself. When Hedwig appeared the other day...I knew it was time. Hermione..." He reached for her once more, but she moved back to avoid him. "I've missed you."  
  
She snorted softly. "Well, that makes it all better, then. Doesn't it?"  
  
"That's not what I'm trying to..."  
  
"You have no idea, Harry." Hermione blinked back fresh tears. "You just have no idea what I...what we went through."   
  
This time, she allowed him to touch her. His fingers curved around her arm. "Tell me."  
  
She shook her head, ignoring her tears. "I can't. I'm not ready to..."  
  
"Mum!" They both turned their heads upon hearing the word. At the far end of the hall, a boy emerged from one door. He was clutching a battered copy of "Hogwarts, A History" and approached them quickly. "I'm hungry and Mrs. Plumb fell asleep before she could make supper."   
  
Hermione extracted herself from Harry and reached to brush rust-colored bangs away from her son's forehead. "Harry, I've taught you how to make shepherd's pie."  
  
The boy folded his arms around his book indignantly. "Only the meat. Not the potatoes."   
  
His mother smiled. "Fine then. Go get started on the meat and I'll be there in a minute for the rest." The boy ran back and the door slammed shut.   
  
The hallway was quiet for a moment. "There," Hermione finally said. "Now you know."  
  
Harry blinked. They had a child. Ron and Hermione... He took a breath. "He's a good looking boy."  
  
Hermione nodded. "That doesn't come from my side."  
  
"His name..." He looked at her strangely. "You and Ron named him after me."  
  
"No. I named him." She dug her nails into her palms. "After his father."  
  
****  
  
To Be Continued 


	3. Banishing Spell

Disclaimer: Not a lot of what follows comes from my brain originally.   
  
Author's Notes: Again, I want to thank everyone for all the wonderful feedback. Yall are just as great as the people in the Gundam section;)   
  
Dedication: To Melissa, my usual beta-reader who can't beta-read this story until tonight, after she finally sees the movie. And to my brother, Clifton, for taking over her position in the meanwhile.  
  
****  
  
An Organ of Fire  
by Kristen Elizabeth  
  
****  
  
"I thought I migh' be findin' yer here."  
  
Harry did not have to take his eyes away from Ron's grave to know who was behind him. "Hello Hagrid," he said, listlessly.   
  
The older man lifted his lantern to see better in the dark. Harry was sitting on the cold grass with his knees bent, balancing his chin on his arms. The wind had blown his hair every which way and threatened to rip off his glasses, but he barely seemed to notice.   
  
"I brough' yer this." Hagid draped a cloak around Harry. "Gittin' a mit bit cold out here."  
  
Harry nodded and pulled the material closer to him. Both men were quiet for a spell as they simply stared at the marble marker and listened to the lake below. Finally, Hagrid cleared his throat. "Yer ran away agin, 'arry."  
  
He snorted. "I'm still here, aren't I?"  
  
"Yer oughta be in there. Talkin' ter her. And him."   
  
"That's certainly easier said than done." Harry blinked and looked up. "Is he really mine, Hagrid?"  
  
The half-giant's eyes flashed dangerously. "Yer be doubtin' 'ermione's word?"  
  
"Well..." Harry coughed. "He just looks so much like Ron. The hair....you know."  
  
Hagrid finally sat down; the earth trembled a bit under Harry as he plopped to the ground. "I know ye've only seen pict'res, 'arry, but yer mum's hair were the same as the boy's."  
  
Harry looked down at the grass under his legs. "This is....this all a lot to take right now, Hagrid. I don't even...I mean, the thought never occurred to me...." He turned his face up towards the dark sky. "We were just kids. And we were only together...like that....once. Just once."   
  
"Seems ter have bin enough."   
  
"Tell me what happened after I left, Hagrid. She won't..."  
  
Hagrid scowled. "Yer didn't give her much o' a chance, did yer? Just bolt'd straight out to here wit'out a word."  
  
"I think I have the right!" Harry replied, indignantly. "It's been a bloody awful day!"  
  
"And she's had a bloody awful ten years," Hagrid shot back. "Iffen it weren't fer Ron, she never would've made it. Yer asked what happ'ned after yer left? Well, I'm gonna tell yer. When yer left, 'arry, she cried fer a good week. Ron...he were the only one what could make her even eat. He wrote yer, tryin' ter git yer back fer her, but yer never replied. And when she got told she were pregna't, well...even then they still wrote ter yer. When he were born, they wrote ter yer. And when they got hitched, they tried agin." He stopped for a breath. "Can yer blame her fer not tryin' when he died?"  
  
Harry shook his head. "No. I don't suppose I can." Suddenly, despite all of his efforts to remain in control, hot tears filled his eyes. "Ron is dead..."  
  
Hagrid nodded.  
  
"And...I have a son."  
  
The older man put a large arm around him. "That yer do."  
  
Harry leaned into his old friend, allowing himself, for the briefest moment, to be eleven again. His tears caught in the frames of his glasses. "And the term starts the day after tomorrow."  
  
Hagrid laughed. "That's the easy part, 'arry. First thin', yer gotta fix thin's with 'ermione. And..." He paused for effect. "Git ter know lit'le 'arry. He's a damn fine kid, that one."   
  
"I'm sure he is...what with being raised by them." Harry rubbed at his eyes under his glasses, shrugged off the cloak and stood up. "Has she hated me, Hagrid? I wouldn't blame her, but I'd like to know what I'm up against."   
  
"Well..." Hagrid thought long and hard. "Seems ter me she didn' have a lot o' good thin's ter say 'bout yer the nigh' she had the wee one. 'Sides that..." He smiled. "There be hope."  
  
Nodding, Harry prepared to go, but Hagrid called out to him again. "Wait a bit!" He fumbled around in his coat pockets, searching for something. At long last, he pulled out a small, wrapped package. "Yer didn' think I'd ferget, did yer? I know it's a bit on the late side, but....'appy birthday, 'arry."   
  
Harry looked at the present with wonder. He tried to recall the last time he had received a gift. Graduation day...Hermione...a pocket watch with a picture of the three of them on the inside.  
  
**So you'll always be on time, Harry. And so you'll never forget us in the meanwhile.**  
  
He hurriedly unwrapped the package. Inside was a tin of treacle fudge. Harry grinned. "Thank you, Hagrid." There was an awkward moment. "Good night, then."  
  
As soon as Harry was gone, Hagrid looked back at the grave. "Gonna be toug' times, Ron. They migh' need a bit o' yer help alon' the way. Those two..." He shook his head again, this time in amusement. "Both need a good kick in the arse, iffen yer ask me."  
  
****  
  
Hermione had just settled down with her lesson plans when there was a knock on her door. She glanced at the couch where her ten year old son lay sleeping, curled up with a thick blanket. He didn't stir as the knocking became more insistent. Sighing, she stood and went to answer the door.  
  
She very nearly closed it again as soon as she opened it. But Harry sticking his foot in the doorway prevented that. "Back again, eh? Rather nasty habit you're developing, Harry. I never would have taken you for a pantywaist when I first met you."  
  
"A what?" He shook his head. "Never mind...it can't be good. Look, Hermione..." Over her shoulder, he caught sight of her son...their son asleep on the couch. "May I come in at least?"  
  
"You can say whatever it is you need to say from the hallway," Hermione replied, a bit more harshly than she had intended.   
  
Harry glanced down the corridor. At the far end, Snape stood, apparently straining to hear what was going on at Hermione's door. Upon being spotted, he hurriedly unlocked his own apartment and disappeared into it. "Have a heart, Hermione," Harry said. "We need to talk."  
  
Shaking her head, she conceded to letting him inside. He shut the door gently behind him, very mindful of the boy on the couch. Harry took a deep breath and tried to review all the things he had thought to say on his journey from the cliff to the castle. They all seemed to be flying out of his head as he was faced with her...his oldest friend, one time lover, mother of his child...and still, he couldn't help but acknowledge, the prettiest girl he had ever known.   
  
"Hermione...first and foremost, I'm sorry." She folded her arms, but let him continue. "Leaving ten years ago was the worst mistake I've ever made. I could spout on about all my reasons, but the only thing that's important is that it wasn't your fault. Nothing you did...nothing we did together made me leave. I promise you that."  
  
Hermione chewed the inside of her cheek before replying. "You can tell me that as much as you want, Harry, but it's going to take me a very long time to believe it. I mean, what was I supposed to think? Waking up in the morning to a note that said basically just said 'goodbye', after the most incredible night of my..." She stopped. "How was I not supposed to think that I had done something horribly wrong to drive you away?"  
  
"I know and I'm sorry." He wanted to touch her, but he didn't want to see her recoil from him again. "It wasn't your fault. It was me. Just me."   
  
"It can't be that way, Harry! It's not just about you anymore...it never was!" She began to cry and with each sob, Harry's chest ached a bit more. "Why couldn't you have just said goodbye...in person? Why didn't you give me any reasons....and why have you shown up after all this time, *still* unable to give any reasons?" She trapped her lips between her teeth before she could go on to say, **Why couldn't you ever love me the way I loved you?**  
  
Harry looked completely helpless. Nothing he had thought of to say could repair the past. "Forgive me?" he whispered.  
  
She looked down at the thick rug beneath her feet. Her arms, which had be crossed at her chest, slipped down until she was holding her stomach. "It's going to...take time."   
  
All he could do was nod. Once again, his gaze slipped over to the sleeping boy. His hair seemed even more red in the light of the fire, but as he studied him closer, Harry could actually see his own face. He reached behind his head to rub the back of his neck. "I want to know him, Hermione."   
  
"That's admirable, Harry." She looked back up at him with teary eyes. "But not necessary."  
  
"What do you mean 'not necessary'?"  
  
"I mean just that! Your desire to be part of his life is not necessary."  
  
"If it's not necessary, then why the bloody hell did you tell me at all? Why not let me go on thinking he was Ron's child?" Harry's temper sparked.   
  
Hermione lifted her shoulders. "I don't know. A desire to get the truth out? Or perhaps it was the horrible parts of me that want you to know what it's like to want something so badly, but be unable to have it."  
  
Was she trying to be cruel or had ten years really changed her that much? The Hermione he thought he knew never would have acted this way. "So...you're going to punish me? Is that it?"  
  
"If you insist upon thinking about it like that, so be it. I don't really care. Let me just tell you this..." She stepped towards him. "As far as he knows, his father died a year ago. And I'm not all that eager for him to think any differently." She walked back to the door and opened it. "I'm sure you have things you need to be doing. Term starts the day after tomorrow. You don't want to show up on the first day unprepared, do you?"   
  
"Heaven forbid," he said between clenched teeth. Taking the hint, he started out the door, but not before he pointed a finger at her. "This isn't over, Hermione. I live here now, a mere three doors down from you. You can't avoid me. And I will not stop trying until you let me get to know my son."  
  
Hermione waited until the door was shut behind him before whispering, "Good night, Harry.  
  
****  
  
The next day passed in a complete blur for Harry. With a little help from Professor McGonagall, he decided not to change the book for his class, but rather use the one that was still on the list from the last professor, "The Dark Arts and You: A Study In Defense". Apparently the old book, "The Dark Forces: A Guide to Self-Protection" was out-dated. In doing so, however, he spent the better part of the morning pouring over the new book in the staff room, trying to pick out important topics and deciding which grade should learn which and in what order. By lunchtime, he was feeling a bit better about classes starting in less than twenty-four hours.   
  
He had just sat down to a plate of beef casserole in the Great Hall when there was a loud chiming from some unseen clock he had never heard before. A few places down, Professor Sprout looked up from her lunch. She smiled at Harry's confusion. "Eleven o'clock, on the dot. The Express is on its way."  
  
Harry's stomach churned. In only a few short hours he had to be back here, prepared to greet the students of Hogwarts. Pushing aside his plate, he stood up and excused himself. Quickly, he started for the staff room, to return to his lesson plans.   
  
The heavy door to the room was ajar. As he approached it, he could hear voices from inside. Immediately, he recognized one of them. Hermione. Not intending to eavesdrop, but being unable to stop himself, he got as close to the door as he could and strained to listen.   
  
"I have complete faith in Dumbledore, I do," he heard Hermione firmly state. "But can you blame me for being scared?"  
  
The second voice replied back; Harry identified it as Professor McGonagall's. "No, I can't. Albus has power, but even he can be out-voted by the council. And they seem determined to go through with this...this outrage."  
  
"I'm not so much worried about my job," Hermione continued. "But Harry...my Harry...he'll be starting here next year. If Malfoy gets his way, life is going to be so much harder for him than it ever was for me." She paused. "He'll still be seen as having Muggle blood."  
  
"Albeus won't let this happen, Hermione. We're just going to have to trust him. Besides that, the entire wizard community would be in an uproar if anyone with any Muggle blood wasn't allowed at Hogwarts. We'd have practically no students or teachers!" McGonagall's voice was reassuring. "It will be all right."  
  
Harry heard a faint sniffle. "When Ron was here, all of this didn't seem quite so scary." Hermione cleared her throat. "If only he could have found out..." She stopped. "Well, no good going down that alley. What's done can't be undone."   
  
"How are you doing, dear? I've been worried about you, what with Harry returning and all."   
  
Before Hermione could reply, Harry quietly walked away. It would be wrong, he decided, to listen any further. But what he had heard of their conversation concerned him deeply.   
  
Malfoy. Had she meant Draco, their childhood adversary, or his father, Lucius? Either one could be responsible for a plan to rid Hogwarts of any mixed-blood wizards, Mudbloods as they so crudely put it. They were a cruel pure-blooded family, proud of tracing their heritage back to Salazar Slytherin, who had, himself, tried to rid Hogwarts of mixed-blood wizards back in the founding days. It would not be of any surprise if Draco or his father were actively trying to carry on their ancestor's work.  
  
Harry's blood boiled. How could they even suggest such a thing? Everyone knew that Lucius Malfoy was a Death Eater, loyal to the wizard responsible for so many people's deaths, including Harry's own parents. Why would anyone support him or his son? How could they allow good people like Hermione to be threatened, simply for having been born to a non-magical family?   
  
Moreover than that, something about what Hermione had said about Ron bothered him. He had been an Auror, a wizard in charge of tracking and unearthing dark wizards to bring them to justice. An honorable profession now that the ministry was much more just system, but still a very dangerous job.   
  
Harry looked up suddenly. In his anger, he had somehow found his way to the library. He could hear Madam Pince, the librarian, in the Restricted Section, straightening up. He glanced around, refamiliarizing himself with the walls of books. His green eyes fell on the periodicals. Something propelled him towards it and kept propelling until he had dug through all the old copies of The Daily Prophet. After a great while and many stops along the way to catch up on news he had missed, he found what he was looking for. With shaking hands, he pulled forth one yellowed paper, dated June 11 of the previous year.  
  
AUROR KILLED IN LONDON ACCIDENT  
  
A smaller caption read, "Ron Weasley leaves behind wife, child and memories."  
  
Harry took a deep breath. The picture that greeted him was of Ron, Hermione and little Harry. Ron's smile was broad; he looked down at the young boy with much love. His fingers were entwined with Hermione's. Due to aging and quick developing, the picture moved slowly. Harry watched his son laugh and point at something behind the photographer. Ron lifted Hermione's fingers to his lips.   
  
With a lump in his throat, Harry folded the paper and stuffed it inside his robes for later reading.   
  
On his way back to his apartment, he was nearly knocked over as something small and fast raced past him. He stepped out of the way before Nearly Headless Nick swooped past him, evidently chasing the same thing. Harry squinted; a few feet away, his son was climbing onto a stone statue of a griffin.   
  
The Gryffindor ghost pointed at the boy. "I've got you now!"  
  
Little Harry laughed. "See, Nick? You don't need the headless hunt when you can chase after me!"  
  
Nick waited for the boy to jump down. "Don't let your mother catch wind of this, Harry." He bowed at the boy, before turning to bow to the older Harry. "Ah, Professor Potter. Good to see you again." Winking, he dissipated. The hallway was now empty except for him and his son.  
  
Harry readjusted his glasses. "Hello, Harry."   
  
The young boy looked at him. "Hello," he replied, happily. "Are you the new Professor?"  
  
"I'm Ha...Professor Potter." Harry extended a hand to the boy.   
  
"Harry Weasley." His son shook his hand importantly. He blinked suddenly, upon seeing Harry's scar through his bangs. "You're Harry Potter!" The boy's green eyes widened. "My mum and dad used to talk about you all the time! Dad, especially. He used to say I had a lot to live up to because we have the same name. You knew my dad, didn't you? You and he and Mum were all friends, weren't you?"  
  
Harry's head spun listening to the boy. "Yes. We were. Your dad... Ron..." He swallowed. "He was a very good man."  
  
Little Harry nodded emphatically. He was about to continue talking when Hermione appeared around the corner. "Mum!" he called to her.   
  
She walked over to them, lips pursed. "What are you doing, Harry?" Harry wasn't sure if she was talking to him or to her son.   
  
The boy replied for him. "I was just saying hi to Professor Potter, Mum. We were talking about Dad."  
  
"Oh, were you?" Hermione gave the older Harry a look. "Do you know what time it is?"   
  
Their son sighed and crossed his arms. "Mum...do I really have to stay in my room tonight? Can't I come out and watch the ceremonies?"  
  
"Only one more year, Harry." Hermione ran her fingers through his reddish locks. "Then it'll be your turn."  
  
Little Harry pouted but only for a minute. His frown was quickly replaced by a smile. He was a jovial child at heart, Harry decided. "Goodnight, Professor Potter," he said to Harry. "Goodnight, Mum."  
  
Hermione waved to her son as he took off towards the apartments. "Harry, don't run! You'll scare the paintings!" But the boy was long gone. Hermione sighed. "He is so much like Ron in that respect." She turned to give Harry another hard look. "And you."  
  
"I take that as a compliment." Harry paused. "I think."  
  
She smiled softly. "It was meant as one." After a rather awkward pause, she folded her arms. "Are you ready for tomorrow?"  
  
Harry scratched the back of his head. "I hope so." He coughed to break up the next bit of silence. "Hermione...I was in the library today and I found the article on Ron's death...."   
  
"So?" She waited for him to go on.  
  
"Well...I haven't read it yet, but you said it was Muggle scaffolding? It fell on him?"  
  
Her lip wobbled, but she maintained control. "Yes. It was an accident."  
  
"Hermione...you and I have both lived in the Muggle world. I remember going about London when they were restoring some of the older buildings. That scaffolding...it's meant to stay in place."  
  
She frowned. "What are you getting at, Harry?"  
  
"I don't know. Maybe nothing. I'm just trying to make sense of everything..." Harry paused as a thought came to him. "Ron was an Auror, right?" She nodded reluctantly. "What was he working on when he died?"  
  
Hermione opened her mouth, but thought better and shut it again. When she started back up, her mood had taken a definite turn. "Harry, I'm not sure what you're suggesting, but Ron's death was a complete accident. Scaffolding falls; it's Muggle-made. Completely fallible." Her face softened. "I know it's hard. It took me a long time to accept he was gone. But he is gone, Harry. Thinking too much about how he died won't bring him back."  
  
"Yes, but..."  
  
She cut him off. "Please just stop." Her eyes were wet. "You mean well, but you're not helping." Before she could continue, the same, unfamiliar clock rang out. Hermione wiped her eyes. "The train's arrived. Come on. The sorting ceremony will start soon."  
  
"Hermione..." Harry managed to take hold of her arm. "What if it wasn't just an accident? Wouldn't you want to know?"  
  
"No." She pulled away from him sharply. "I wouldn't." Taking a few steps backwards, she brushed away the last traces of her tears. "And I don't want my son thinking that way either. Please stay away from him, Harry."   
  
Unable to speak in the wake of her demand, Harry watched her disappear, headed for the Great Hall. After the shock had begun to wear off, he balled up his fist. Somewhere in the ten years, Hermione had lost the passion of her convictions. The Hermione he knew...the Hermione he loved was different now. But Harry was up to the challenge. He would find out the truth about Ron's death. He would get to know his son.   
  
He would make Hermione love him again.  
  
****  
  
To Be Continued 


	4. Memory Charm

Disclaimer: JK Rowling invented; I merely borrow.   
  
Author's Notes: More and more thanks for all these fabulous reviews! I'm seriously very touched. Oh, and a special shout out to the amazing people who created the Harry Potter online Lexicon, to which I have been going frequently, for the details in this story.  
  
****  
  
An Organ of Fire  
by Kristen Elizabeth  
  
****  
  
"Okay, look...I have a boot-leg copy of 'Harry Potter'. There's a VCR and a keg in my room, all right?" -Will Ferrel as Osama bin Laden, attempting to placate his army in the wake of the Northern Alliance successes. SNL 12/01/01  
  
****  
  
Albus Dumbledore did not preside over the Sorting Ceremony, as he had for so many years. In his place, Professor McGonagall sat and greeted the new students with the usual warnings about the Forbidden Forest and Hogsmeade.   
  
Professor Snape took her role and placed the Sorting Hat on each first year student. Harry watched from his place at the head table; his own Sorting Ceremony played back in his head as once more he pondered the question...what would have happened if the Hat *had* chosen to place him in Slytherin? What different path might his life have taken? He was deep in thought when he heard Snape call out a familiar name.  
  
"William Weasley, Jr." A young boy with flaming red hair stepped forward and sat on the stool. Harry looked at Hermione.   
  
Without taking her eyes off the boy, she answered his unspoken question. "Bill's first son. I had forgotten he was to be starting this year. I suppose he'll be sorted into..."  
  
The Hat called out. "GRYFFINDOR!"  
  
Harry smiled. All of the Weasley's were placed into Gryffindor; it was tradition.   
  
****  
  
Much later that night, long after the feast and the introduction to the House, during which a great wave of awe and enthusiasm had passed through the Gryffindor common room when it was announced that Harry Potter was to be jointly in charge, Harry sat by the window in his bedroom, staring out at the lake. He spent the few minutes alone in the dark, remembering. If he closed his eyes, he could recall everything about his graduation from Hogwarts ten years earlier.   
  
And, as Hermione had put it, the most incredible night of his life.  
  
He supposed it had all begun with the pocket watch. The thoughtfulness of the gift, coupled with the subtle reminder from his scholastic-minded best friend to try harder to be on time, had propelled him to do something he had wanted to do for years.   
  
He kissed her.   
  
The details of what followed weren't a blur to him. Rather, they were the sweetest memories he carried with him. She had trusted him, completely and unwavingly. More precious than the watch or the necklace he had given her, they gave each other their innocence that night. But as he lay in his four poster bed with the velvet drapes drawn, holding her in his arms as they caught their breath, a thought more terrifying than any other occurred to him. What if something were to happen to Hermione?   
  
He argued with himself as she fell asleep against his chest. True, they had beaten Voldemort in the final battle and it appeared as though he could not possibly come back....but what if they were all wrong? What if he rose again and came after them? Voldemort would know Harry's weakness...the woman curled up against him. He would kill her first, just to delight in seeing Harry watch her die. Like he had watched his mother die.   
  
It was right then that Hermione gave a little sigh in her sleep, a content, sated sigh. And it was right then that Harry decided to leave. Before anyone or anything could harm her to get to him.   
  
He couldn't remember disentangling himself from her, only that it was hard. And he couldn't remember writing the note, only that it was painful. But he could remember kissing her forehead and then her lips and hoping, despite the choices he was making, that it wouldn't be the last time he would be allowed to do so.   
  
"I love you," he had said before slipping away into the night. But she hadn't heard him. Perhaps, he had thought at the time, it was better that way.   
  
Harry shook himself out of his reverie. Glancing at the clock, he saw that it was nearly three in the morning. Another sleepless night. Did she have any idea, as she rested just down the hall, how much she was on his mind and had been for most of his life?   
  
"Of course she doesn't, you idiot," Harry chastised himself out loud. "You've never told her to her face."   
  
But all of that was going to change. He crawled into bed and closed his eyes. It was all going to change.  
  
****  
  
Just down the hall, Hermione Weasley was completely awake, looking out at the lake with the same air of reflection as Harry. After all, the lake was where she had first realized she was in love with him. On the day of the second task of the Triwizard Tournament, when Harry, with no thought towards his time limit or winning, had tried to save Ron *and* her from their enchanted sleep with the merpeople.   
  
Viktor Krum might have ultimately have been the one who pulled her from the lake, but to Hermione, Harry had been her hero that day. She regained consciousness on the cold shore, knowing her heart would never be the same. But she had only been fourteen. It took her another few years to really and truly fall in love with Harry Potter.   
  
Graduation night. When he had given her the most beautiful necklace of rose quartz, a blush had colored his cheeks, as though he thought the gift wasn't good enough. As she continued to stare out the window, her fingers found the necklace underneath the neckline of her nightgown. She rolled it lovingly between her fingers.   
  
What had prompted him to kiss her that night? Whatever it had been, she hadn't ever wanted it to stop. And it hadn't. He had wrapped her up in his arms, wrapped her up in what she had hoped was his love, and taken her away from the entire world for a few precious moments. He had been so gentle with her, but with an underlying passion that she had never felt again...not even with Ron.   
  
She closed her eyes before tears could come once again. It hurt her to admit it, but as wonderful as being with Ron had always been, he had never been able to come close to duplicating what she had felt during that one night with Harry.   
  
"I'm sorry, Ron," she whispered just as she had countless times after he had fallen asleep and she lay awake, thinking of Harry. "You deserved better than me."   
  
Hermione let the rose quartz fall back between her breasts. Ron had loved her and loved Harry like one of his brothers; she had loved Harry and grown to love Ron. But who did Harry love?   
  
When she finally forced herself into bed, she pulled the covers over her head as if she could shut the entire world out. They were all steering for rough waters and Hermione wasn't sure if she was strong enough to survive the trip.  
  
****  
  
His mouth was dry. His body was frozen. A strange chill originated in the pit of his stomach and radiated out to the very tips of his fingers. He could barely breathe, the fear and sheer panic had taken such a hold on him. In front of Harry Potter, seated in neat rows, was the scariest thing he had faced since his last encounter with Voldemort: twenty bright-eyed, unblemished, innocent eleven year-old faces, all turned up at him with shining expectation.   
  
His first class. The first year students of Gryffindor and Slytherin.  
  
Harry swallowed, hoping that the children couldn't actually hear his throat sticking. "Good morning. Welcome to your first lesson in the Defense Against the Dark Arts. I'm Professor Potter and..." He spread his hands. "I'll be your teacher."  
  
In the back row, a hand shot up. Harry nodded at its owner, a roundish Slytherin boy with brown hair. "Are you the*real* Harry Potter?" the child asked, suspiciously.  
  
Before Harry could reply, another boy with brown hair, a Gryffindor, shot back in a tone that indicated he thought his classmate was a real moron, "Of course he's the real Harry Potter!! Can't you see his scar?"  
  
A blond Slytherin girl came to the first boy's defense. "*I* certainly can't." Her nose scrunched up disdainfully. "His hair is too messy." No sooner had the words left her mouth than several Gryffindors stood up, preparing to defend the Head of their House.   
  
Harry held up his hands. "All right...settle down." One hand unconsciously lingered above his head to pat down his hair. "Yes, I am Harry Potter. But my being so is of absolutely no relevance to this class."  
  
William Weasley, Jr raised his hand. "I'm not sure I'd say that, Professor Potter. My father says that out of all the people in the entire world, you're the best Defense teacher Hogwarts could ask for...because of who you are."  
  
"It's true," a Gryffindor girl with glasses echoed Bill Jr. "According to 'The Rise and Fall of He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named', Harry Potter is one of the only wizards able to deflect the Imperius Curse and *the* only wizard *ever* to have survived the Killing Curse not once, but twice." Harry blinked. The girl was a miniature Hermione.  
  
Another Slytherin boy snorted. "Yes, but what on earth can he teach us? I hear that he's been living in the Muggle world for the past ten years."  
  
"Do you have a problem with Muggles?" a tall Gryffindor boy wanted to know.  
  
"Not particularly," the other boy replied, nonchalantly. "They can't help being born inferior. It's just the Mudbloods who are the problem."  
  
Before the Gryffindor boy could attack, Harry jumped into the fray. "Hey! The number one rule in my classroom that if broken will result in double detention and fifty points being taken from the offender's House is this: that word is *never* to be used. Do you understand?" There were a few mumbled "yes sir's". "Good. Now take out your books and turn to page five." He lifted his voice to be heard over the sounds of pages turning. "The first thing you need to know about the Dark Arts is..." A small hand in the second row lifted. Wearily, Harry nodded at the tiny Gryffindor girl.   
  
"Professor Potter," she began. "My mum wants to know why we must take this class at all."  
  
Harry considered her question for a long minute. "All right. Close up your books." Slams resounded throughout the room. Harry sat on the edge of his desk. "Let me ask you something. How many of you have been to Diagon Alley?" All of the children raised their hands; several of the Slytherins rolled their eyes. "Now...how many of you have been down Knockturn Alley?" Most of the hands dropped immediately. The few that remained up, Harry was sad to note, were Slytherins. But even those children slowly lowered their arms upon receiving horrified looks from their classmates. "Why haven't most of you been there?" Harry asked.  
  
A Gryffindor girl raised her hand. "My Mum and Dad told me not to. They said if I went down there, my ears would fall off."  
  
Harry had to smile. "So, most of your parents haven't let you, correct?" The children nodded. "They've been protecting you, wouldn't you say?" More nods. "Well...where are your parents right now?" There was silence. Harry stood up.   
  
"You're growing up and on your own now at a great school of magic, learning all sorts of new and exciting things. In seven years here, you will learn everything from flying to transfiguration...everything you need to know to be a successful wizard or witch. But from now on, your choices are yours. Your parents aren't here and there are things you're going to face without them. The Dark Arts is the biggest one. And while your ears certainly won't fall off if you go down Knockturn Alley, there could be other severe consequences for making that choice." Harry paused for a breath. "The magical world is wonderful, but it can also be quite dangerous. My job and the purpose of this class is to prepare you for anything you might face in the real world. Are there any questions?"  
  
No hands raised.  
  
"Very well then," Harry continued. "Open your books again to page five. Recognizing the tools of the Dark Arts..."  
  
****  
  
Hermione glanced at her watch. 2:15 PM. At 2 PM exactly, she was to be teaching the Hufflepuff and Gryffindor sixth years. She looked out at her classroom. Half the seats were empty; the other half were only filled with the boys of that year and those houses.   
  
Clearing her throat, she addressed one Hufflepuff. "Albert, where are your classmates? It's the third week of classes; everyone should know their schedules."  
  
She could have almost sworn a faint scowl appeared on the boy's face. "I don't know, Professor. But I expect they should be along soon."  
  
"If you don't know where they are, Albert, how can you presume to know that they'll be here soon?"  
  
Another boy, Phillip Pynecrest, spoke up. "We have Defense Against the Dark Arts right before this, Professor Weasley."  
  
Hermione blinked. "And...this is relevant how exactly?"  
  
This time, she was positive that Albert Batwood scowled. "Professor Potter teaches it."  
  
"I'm well aware of that," Hermione replied, dryly. "Again, I ask, where are all your..."  
  
Just then, the missing Hufflepuff and Gryffindor girls burst into the classroom, flushed and out of breath, but giggling madly.   
  
Hermione crossed her arms. "Did you get lost, girls? Or did you assume I would hold class until you were ready to show up?"  
  
"We're sorry, Professor," Lily Waterman managed to apologize in between trills of laughter. "We...stayed after in Defense to..." She stopped; evidently her cheeks were too red to go on.   
  
Carry Carthwaight continued for her. "We were talking to Professor Potter, Professor Weasley. We can go back and get a note if you'd like." All the girl's faces lit up at the idea.   
  
"That's quite all right." Hermione sighed. "Just...take your seats." Still giggling, the girls managed to situate themselves in the empty seats around the room. Hermione walked to the chalkboard. "Now, we left off last lesson talking about the history of elf enslavement, which as I'm sure you know, is still one of the more barbaric acts in common practice throughout the..." Loud whispers from one corner of the room drew Hermione's attention. She turned around to see Lily and Carry in a deep, whispered conversation. "Ahem!" The girls sat up straight. "Is there something you two would like to say about elf enslavement?"   
  
"No ma'am," the girls replied.   
  
Hermione turned back to the board and started writing. "There are over a hundred house-elves at Hogwarts, but I'm pleased to say we are one of now three magic schools that provide wages and basic worker's rights to..." Another few whispers reached her ears. She spun around in time to catch sight of Miles Goldener passing something to Harmony Feld. "Miss Feld." Hermione walked over to the girl and held out her hand, expectantly. Harmony shot a mournful look to Lily and Carry before handing Hermione the folded piece of parchment.   
  
"You know my rules about notes," Hermione said as she unfolded the paper. Clearing her throat, she began to read. "'I can't believe how green his eyes are; they're the color of the Quidditch green....that's nothing, can't you just imagine running your fingers through that...'" Laughter filled the room, save for a few of the boys who looked extremely put out. Hermione forced herself to continue with the punishment. "'...that tousled hair....I know he's older, but he can't be anymore than thirty....twenty-eight, I looked up his birthday in my history book....'"   
  
Mortified, Lily and Carry slid down into their seats. Hermione crumpled up the parchment paper and stuffed it into the pocket of her robe. "Well, it's good to know that you've at least opened your history book, Miss Waterman." There was more laughter as Hermione continued, "I trust we've all learned a valuable lesson here," she said, a bit more flustered than she had intended.   
  
"Yeah, never let your girlfriend stay after in Defense class," Albert muttered out loud. The other boys snickered.   
  
Hermione shook her head. "If we could get back to the elves..."   
  
"Professor Weasley?" Harmony Feld raised her hand. "You were there, weren't you? When Professor Potter defeated He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named?"   
  
"Didn't I answer this question last year?" The students gave no indication that she had. Hermione gave in. It was obvious they weren't going to spend the lesson talking about elves. "Yes, I was there."  
  
Phillip leaned forward. "He almost died, didn't he? Professor Potter? He overcame the Killing Curse, but it almost got him, right?"   
  
Hermione closed her eyes. An image of Harry's half-broken, bloody body flashed across her mind. She shuddered despite her heavy robes. "The important thing is that Vo...You-Know-Who was defeated. He didn't win and Harry lived."   
  
All the girls in the class beamed.   
  
"But he still has followers, hasn't he?" Albert asked. "Ready to do his work for him?"   
  
"The Darkness will always have a following, Albert," she replied sadly. "But everyone who chooses good..." She swallowed. "And everyone who dies for good makes it all that more strong, until one day, the Darkness won't have anything to hold onto." The students pondered her words for a minute. "Now...back to the elves." Groans filled the classroom.  
  
It wasn't until later, when the students were long gone, that Hermione retrieved the crumpled paper from inside her robe. She spread it flat across her desk.   
  
"Eyes like the Quidditch green," she muttered. "Please...they're far more like emeralds." She blinked all of the sudden, as though she had forgotten herself. Quickly, she tore up the note and tossed the pieces into the fireplace. Gathering her books, she left the classroom. But a single thought plagued her all the way back to her apartment.  
  
She could remember, all too well, exactly what it was like to run her fingers through that tousled hair.  
  
****  
  
"Don't forget...read up on grindylows for next week or it's a unscheduled field trip to the lake for all of you!" Laughter followed Harry's words as the Ravenclaw and Hufflepuff third years started filing out of the classroom. Hermione waited until most of the students had gone before slipping in unnoticed. The classroom was warm, unlike the open-air corridor, chilled by the late-October wind.   
  
Hermione hung to the back of the room as two Ravenclaw girls approached Harry's desk. "Professor Potter," one girl, Felicity Foxhall searched for something to say. "Um...what pages are the grindylows on?"  
  
Harry smiled patiently. "Forty-five to forty-seven, Felicity." Over the girls' shoulder, he spotted Hermione. "Is there anything else?"  
  
Felicity and her friend blushed deeply. "No. Thank you, Professor." Hermione hid a smile behind her hand as the girls dashed out of the room, giggling all the way.   
  
"It seems you have quite a fan base," Hermione addressed him, once the girls were gone.  
  
His hair flopped over his forehead as he packed up his things. When he brushed it away, Hermione caught a glimpse of his scar. "I only hope they're all learning something."  
  
"I'm sure they are." She walked towards him. "Harry?"  
  
He glanced up; momentarily shaking her will with the intensity of his eyes. "Yes?"  
  
"I...I wanted..." Scowling, Hermione tightened her jaw before she started sounding like the girls of the school. "Halloween is next week." He nodded. "Harry...little Harry...he and I stay in on Halloween since he can't go to the feast yet and I don't like leaving him alone. I was wondering..."   
  
She was unable to finish her sentence because just then, Bill Jr ran into the classroom as fast as his gangly legs would carry him. "Professor Potter!" He stopped when he saw they weren't alone. "Aunt Herm...I mean, Professor Weasley."   
  
"It's all right, Bill." Hermione ruffled his hair affectionately. "You can still call me that when we're alone." Bill Jr glanced at Harry. "Or when we're around people who don't mind," she corrected herself.   
  
Harry failed to hide a grin. "What's the matter, Bill?"  
  
The boy dug into his schoolbag and produced a copy of the day's "Daily Prophet". He handed it to Harry. "I found this in the common room and started to read it, when I noticed something rather strange. Do you see it, too, Professor Potter?"  
  
Exchanging a look with Hermione, Harry examined the article. His eyes narrowed immediately.   
  
On the page, in full color and motion, was Draco Malfoy. Ten year hadn't changed him beyond making him older. His eyes still held mocking malice; his slicked-back blond hair was anything but pure. The caption on the photo read, "Hogwarts School Council Faces New Entrance Rules Proposition". In the picture, Draco was in debate with their old Headmaster and friend, Albus Dumbledore.   
  
Harry watched as Hermione's face became quite pale. When he spoke, his tone was grim. "What am I supposed to be looking for, Bill?"  
  
"You don't see it?" Bill pointed to the picture. "At the bottom of Malfoy's robe...if you cross your eyes a bit and turn it upside down....doesn't it look like the Dark Mark? The one we read about last week?"  
  
Hermione licked her lower lip. "What do you think, Harry?"  
  
"I just don't know," Harry mused, turning the paper upside and squinting. "As much as I'd like to sic the Aurors onto Malfoy, I can't imagine that even he would be stupid enough to wear the Mark in public, where anyone could see it."  
  
Bill spoke up. "But the Aurors were already..."   
  
He was interrupted by Hermione. "If Professor Potter doesn't think it's the Mark, Bill, we should take his word for it. He is, after all, the expert." She put a hand on her nephew's shoulder. "May I ask a favor of you, Bill?"  
  
The boy looked up at her with a mixture of disappointment and curiosity. "Of course. What is it?"  
  
"Harry's been a little lonely lately, what with the students here and him being so close and yet so far from being one of them. I just bet he would love a visit from his cousin. Now, I know you're busy with school and your new friends, but..."  
  
Bill Jr smiled broadly. "Sure, Aunt Hermione. I'll come see him tonight." He glanced at the paper again and sighed, dramatically. "Thank you, Professor Potter."  
  
Harry tore his eyes away from the article. "Thank you, Bill. May I keep this?" The boy nodded and scampered out of the room, leaving Hermione and Harry alone again.  
  
"He's a bright boy," Hermione said after a moment. "He may have been wrong this time, but at least now you know you're teaching your students something."   
  
All she got in reply, at first, was a nod. She was about to leave when Harry spoke. "Dumbledore is arriving back tonight." He looked at her. "He sent me an owl. I'm to meet with him tonight." Harry held up the paper. "I'll find out for sure, Hermione."   
  
"What do you mean?"  
  
He hit the page with the backs of his fingers, right over Draco's face. "If Ron's death wasn't an accident...I don't think we have to look very far to find the responsible parties."   
  
She glanced up at the high arched ceiling, blinking back tears. "When are you going to stop? When are you going to accept it?"  
  
"I have, Hermione." He lifted his shoulders. "Ron is gone. I can accept that fact without accepting that he was killed in a scaffolding accident. Him...an Auror, obviously working on something you don't want me to know about." Harry shook his head. "It's too convenient, an accident. And it insults Ron's memory to keep it as such." He leaned in towards her to brush a tear from her eye. The physical contact, so long forgotten from him, surprised her. She had to stifle a small gasp. "I have to know, Hermione. For your sake as much as his memory."  
  
"Harry..." He breathed in the sweetness of his name on her lips. "I just...I don't want you...getting in over your head."   
  
His fingers lingered on her cheek long after the tear was gone. "Will you trust me to know my own limitations?" It took her awhile, but eventually she nodded. He pulled back. "I'll let you know how it goes with Dumbledore." In one quick motion, Harry slung his bag over his shoulder and prepared to go. He stopped short and turned back around. "What was it you were going to ask me before, Hermione?"  
  
"I was just..." She took a calming breath. "Would you like to spend Halloween evening with me....and Harry?"   
  
The smile that lit up his face was brighter than she had ever seen...and it did unwelcome things to her heart. "I would love it," he replied. There was an awkward moment before Harry started off again, nearly tripping over the first row of desks as he went. When he reached the door, he turned back around once more. "Trust me, Hermione," he said knowingly. And then, he was gone.   
  
"I trust you, Harry." She closed her eyes. "I always have."  
  
****  
  
To Be Continued 


	5. Petrificus Totalus

Disclaimer: I don't own these characters. I'm not even British;)  
  
Author's Notes: I'm sorry this chapter is so short. I'm going into my exams and won't be able to write much for the next few days, so I wanted to get this much out. Also, I wanted to state, for the record, that I'm not following either the books or the movie, specifically. I'm just kind of squashing everything together and hoping everyone likes it.   
  
And once again, thank you so much for the feedback. It is *greatly* appreciated!  
  
****  
  
An Organ of Fire  
by Kristen Elizabeth   
  
****  
  
"Canary Creams."  
  
The gargoyle thought the password over before revealing the secret door that led to Dumbledore's tower. Harry stepped through it and onto the wooden staircase. It wound up the tower slowly; he tapped his foot with great impatience. Bill Jr's newspaper was tucked safely into his robes. He was more than anxious to get some answers from the great wizard.   
  
But, he was to be disappointed. When the stairs stopped in Dumbledore's office, he was nowhere to be found. Harry sighed. His frown soon slipped into a smile. The office was exactly the same as it had been ten years earlier. This was the last place he had visited before leaving that night.   
  
"I knew you'd find your way back here someday."  
  
Harry spun around and came face to bearded face with Albus Dumbledore. The old man had appeared virtually out of nowhere, yet it didn't surprise Harry in the least. He smiled again. "You've always known more about me than I do."  
  
Dumbledore shook his head. "I just have more faith in you than you have in yourself." He walked around to his desk; his dark purple robes brushed the floor. "It is good to have you back, Harry. You've returned just in time."  
  
"I don't know about that." He scratched his cheek. "I have to say...all of this confuses me." Harry sat in one of the old, wooden chairs. "I've been trying to put the pieces together, but...no success so far."  
  
"Even if you managed, Harry, it still wouldn't make sense. It doesn't make a bit of sense to me and I'm right in the middle of it all." Dumbledore clapped his hands and a plate of ham and chicken sandwiches appeared. "Are you hungry?"   
  
Harry helped himself to a sandwich, but didn't eat. "Can Malfoy do it? Can he keep mixed blood wizards out of Hogwarts?"  
  
Dumbledore chewed thoughtfully. "He could. Yes."   
  
"And...this doesn't concern you?"   
  
"Just as I had faith you would return to us, I have faith that people will not allow such a horrible thing come to pass," Dumbledore replied.   
  
Harry was confused. "But, you just said that he could do it. I'm afraid I don't understand." He looked down at his sandwich. "There's a lot I don't understand."  
  
Dumbledore leaned forward. "We all miss him, Harry. His death was a shock to everyone."  
  
It didn't surprise Harry that the older man could telling what he was thinking. "You don't really believe it was an accident, do you?" Dumbledore didn't reply, but his eyes gave Harry the answer he was hoping to hear. "Hermione does," Harry continued. "She won't even consider the possibility that it was anything else besides an accident."  
  
"Don't write her off so quickly," Dumbledore advised. "In her heart, she knows the truth."  
  
"Then why won't she do anything about it?!" He took an angry bite of his sandwich.  
  
Dumbledore reached for a second sandwich. "She watched one man she loved die." His eyes were full of empathy. "I'd imagine she's protecting the other man she loves from the same fate."  
  
Harry nearly choked. "Is that me?" he managed to ask after a moment.  
  
"Well, I suppose she could be protecting your son as well, but yes, I was referring to you."  
  
This time, Harry did choke. Dumbledore clapped his hands again and a goblet of pumpkin juice appeared. Harry took a long drink and cleared his throat. "You know?"   
  
"Of course I know. All one has to do is look at the boy's face." Dumbledore brushed crumbs off his beard. "I'm sure it came as quite a shock to you, though."  
  
"Just a bit." Harry coughed. "She didn't even want me to talk to him at first, but now..." He grinned. "She's invited me to spend Halloween with them."  
  
Dumbledore nodded approvingly. "Keep working at it, Harry. Family is the most important thing we have right now."   
  
The mood darkened again. Harry reached into his robes for the paper. "One of my students pointed something out to me today." He indicated the picture of Malfoy. "Was it the Dark Mark on his robe?"  
  
"Ah yes...I suppose we shouldn't have passed young Draco in Defense Against the Dark Arts, should we?" Dumbledore mused.   
  
"It is then." Harry's fist tightened. "That bastard....and right out in public, too. Like he's challenging us." His lip curled up. "He looks so pleased with himself. I wonder if he looked this way when he killed..." Harry stopped.   
  
"To accuse a wizard of another wizard's death is a serious thing, Harry." Dumbledore finished his dinner and waved his hand to clear away the plate and goblet. "There are things you need first. Evidence...proof...witnesses. All those wonderful Muggle ideas that just happen to be our way, too." He shook his head. "If only the boy could see how much alike we all are."  
  
Harry narrowed his eyes at Draco's picture. "He's always been twisted like this. I've known it since day one. I just never thought he would carry it this far." He looked up at Dumbledore. "I'll get evidence. I'll get proof. I won't let him get away with it, Professor. And I won't let him turn this place into some sort of exclusive club to which only the people *he* deems worthy can belong." *And,* he added silently. *I won't let him hurt Hermione anymore.*  
  
"Like I said..." Dumbledore pressed the tips of his fingers together. "You've come back just in time."  
  
****  
  
Halloween dawned cold and clear. Harry went through the motions of the day without much thought to them. He was fairly certain he assigned homework in all of his classes, but he couldn't remember for sure. He supposed he'd find out on Monday. All day long, he kept thinking about that night. Getting to spend time with little Harry and Hermione....it was far better than a dozen feasts put together.  
  
When his last class was over, Harry ran all the way back to the apartment corridor. He stopped in front of the empty picture frame. "Miss Belle?" The woman in the painting was nowhere to be found. "Bloody hell," he muttered. "Miss Belle...where are you?"   
  
The woman's head poked out from the side frame. "Can't you wait just a damn..." She stopped and the frown on her face was replaced with a bright smile. "I'm sorry, Professor Potter." Miss Belle stepped back into the frame, holding up her dress with one hand. She displayed no signs of modesty at her barely covered figure. "I was just freshening up a bit for the holiday."   
  
Harry shook his head. "You do realize there are children about, don't you?"  
  
Miss Belle grinned, laviciously. "Password, Professor Potter?"   
  
"Deadly nightshade."   
  
The portrait door swung open. Harry jogged down the hall and quickly let himself into his apartment. Once inside, he stripped off his robe and sweater and went searching in his closet for fresh clothing. He was about to pull the new sweater over his head when he was hit by a long-forgotten sensation.   
  
His scar started to throb.   
  
Harry slapped a hand over his forehead. The sweater fell out of his other hand and hit the rug beneath his feet. A stab of fear pierced him. Voldemort. His scar only ever hurt when Voldemort was up to something.   
  
"No," Harry told himself firmly. "You defeated him. He can't ever come back."   
  
But a little voice in the back of his head spoke up, *But he could...he could always find a way, you know...*   
  
He held his head between his hands. "No! He can't!" Suddenly, there was a loud knock on the door. Harry looked up. There was a second knock followed by Hermione's voice.  
  
"Harry?"  
  
Taking a breath, Harry walked over and opened the door. Hermione's lovely face greeted him, but it wasn't until she was standing in front of him that he realized he was only wearing pants.   
  
A blush colored her cheeks. "Well...hello, there."  
  
If Hermione's blush simply colored, Harry's positively painted his cheeks red. "Um...hello. I wasn't expecting...company."  
  
"Evidently." It was a struggle to keep her eyes level with his; every so often as she continued to speak, her glance would dart down to take in the sight of his bare chest. "Don't worry, Harry. I have seen it before, remember?"  
  
"Of course I..." He stopped when his scar throbbed again.   
  
Hermione frowned. "Are you all right?"   
  
"I'm fine. It's just..." He shook his head. "It's nothing."   
  
To his surprise, she reached a hand up to brush his hair away from his forehead. Her fingertips glanced over his scar, instantly soothing away any hurt. Harry closed his eyes at the sensation.   
  
But as soon as it happened, it was gone. Hermione pulled her hand back and cleared her throat. "I just wanted to make sure you'll be there tonight. Harry is looking forward to it very much."   
  
"I'll be there," he assured her. "I wouldn't miss it for the world."   
  
And he didn't. Two hours later, he was at her door, far more dressed than he had been earlier. He carried with him a great package of special candies from Weasley's Wizard Wheezes for little Harry. Nervously, he knocked on her door.   
  
His son answered. "Professor Potter's here, Mum!" he shouted excitedly. Harry felt himself being ushered in. "Happy Halloween!"  
  
"Happy Halloween, Harry." He handed him the box of treats. "Mind the toffee, unless you'd like to have a foot-long tongue." The boy looked delighted at the prospect.   
  
Just then, Hermione appeared from the tiny kitchen. Harry swallowed heavily. Her hair, which was normally pulled back in the tightest of twists, was down around her shoulders. Although still thick, it seemed to have lost the bushiness it had possessed in their youth. She had removed her school robe was clad in a simple skirt and sweater with an apron tied around her slender waist.   
  
"Mum's making mince pie," little Harry declared. "It's my favorite."   
  
Harry smiled. "Mine, too."   
  
A thought occurred to their son. "You've never been here, have you? Come on, then! I'll show you!"  
  
"Harry...I'm sure Ha...Professor Potter doesn't want to..."  
  
But the two men in her life were already off.   
  
"This is the staircase," little Harry announced as they walked up it. When they reached the landing, he pulled Harry towards one of the two rooms. "This is my room."   
  
Models of various magical creatures, most of whom were napping on the shelf above his bed. Posters of the current Quidditch champions...Harry fought back a wave of jealousy upon seeing his old captain, Oliver Wood, playing Keeper for the English team. A hand-sewn quilt. A tank full of fish. A rather large framed photograph of Ron, Hermione and little Harry...the same picture that had appeared in the article about Ron's death.   
  
Harry found his son's room to be both comforting and painful. As little Harry talked on, describing each and every detail, Harry's eyes wandered over to the other door...the door that presumably led to Hermione's bedroom. It was half-open; if he leaned back and turned his head, he could just see into it. The edge of a four poster bed with a peach slip hanging over it....   
  
"Professor Potter." He was snapped back to attention by his son's voice. "My dad said you were a terrific Quidditch player. Is that true?"   
  
"I was all right," Harry admitted.   
  
Little Harry's eyes shone. "Would you teach me?? I want to be on my House team, too, just like you were!"   
  
The idea appealed to Harry, getting to spend time with his son while rediscovering his favorite past time. But he said, in what he hoped was a paternal way, "We should probably ask your mother, you know."  
  
"Ask me what?" Hermione came up the stairs, this time without her apron.   
  
"Ask you...um..." Harry thought quickly. "If those pies are ready yet." He looked at the boy and winked, conspiratorially. Little Harry caught on and said nothing.   
  
"They're in the kitchen." Hermione raised an eyebrow at Harry as their son raced past her, headed for the pies. "If it's Quidditch, my answer is..."  
  
Harry sighed. "'No'. I know."  
  
"...yes," she finished. Harry blinked. Hermione continued, "It's all he ever thinks about. And I'd rather him learn from you than from some sixteen year old boy next year."   
  
He smiled. "I learned from a sixteen year old boy."  
  
"You also nearly choked on the Snitch during your first game." She poked his chest. "Come on. He'll eat all the pies if we don't get down there soon."  
  
****  
  
Hours later, stuffed full of mince pies and trick candies, little Harry stood up after the last game of Exploding Snap, yawned and asked, "May I go to bed now, Mum?"  
  
Hermione laughed. "Wait...let me savor this moment." She closed her eyes. "Of course you may. Just come here and give me a kiss."   
  
Their son obliged and immediately wiped his lips. He grinned when Hermione slapped his backside playfully. "Goodnight, Mum. Goodnight, Professor."   
  
"Goodnight," Harry replied, gathering up the Snap cards.  
  
"Don't forget to brush your teeth!" Hermione called after him. "And feed your fish; they're looking a bit peaked!" Once the boy was gone, she settled back into the couch cushions. "I'm not sure those fish are going to make it. I don't know what sort of animal to get him next year."   
  
Harry chose his words carefully. "Might I make a suggestion?" Hermione turned her head and waited for him to continue. "Hedwig is getting rather bored with just my letters to carry. How would you feel about letting Harry have her next year?"  
  
"You...wouldn't mind?"   
  
"I'd like my son to have something of mine. Even if he's not aware of it."   
  
Hermione's reply was soft. "He has more of you than you realize, Harry. Your eyes, your nose....more importantly, your courage and your compassion. Your sense of right and wrong." She stared at the fire. "He is your son."  
  
"Those things could have just as well come from living with you and Ron." Harry leaned his head back and folded his hands over his forehead. There was a heavy pause. "Why did you marry him, Hermione?"  
  
Words failed her for a minute, until she recovered from the shock of the question. "I...was an unwed...he loved me....he loved Harry." She rubbed her temple. "It just...made sense. Once we got married, the rumors...they stopped."  
  
"What rumors?"  
  
Hermione snorted softly. "Do you know how many people were suspected to be Harry's father? Everyone had a theory...my personal favorite was that it was Draco Malfoy." Harry looked utterly horrified. "The very idea of being with him is so repulsive to me that it's almost comical." She paused. "You're the only one no one ever suspected. I guess they figured that Harry Potter had better taste."   
  
"Hermione..."  
  
She cut him off. "When Ron and I got married, it all made sense to everyone. Harry's hair just helped things. And Ron was a wonderful father....he adored Harry as if he were his own."   
  
"You never had another child though?"  
  
"Not for lack of trying."   
  
Harry cleared his throat. He wasn't keen on hearing such things and regretted bringing it up. "I was just wondering. I'm glad you had each other." The fire crackled during the silence that followed. "I'm sorry, Hermione," he finally whispered.   
  
"Harry, you don't have to..."  
  
He held up a hand. "Yes, I do." Sitting up straight, he reached for her hand. "I'm sorry for leaving. I'm sorry for making you suffer." Unconsciously, he laced his fingers with hers. "I'm sorry for not being there when he was born and for not holding your hand. But most of all...I'm sorry for ruining what was between us." He squeezed her hand lightly. "I'm more sorry for that then you'll ever know."  
  
"You didn't ruin things." Hermione squeezed back.   
  
"I didn't?"   
  
She stared into those eyes, drawn into them once again as though ten minutes, not ten years had passed. "No. We can be..." He stopped her sentence with a long, lingering kiss. Hermione whimpered ever so slightly; it felt too good to be real. When Harry pulled away, she immediately longed for the feeling again. "...mended."  
  
"We can?" Hermione nodded in response and closed her eyes. Grinning, Harry leaned in for another kiss. But before his lips could touch hers, a burning pain shot through his scar. He drew back, clutching his forehead in agony.   
  
"Harry?!" She frantically cupped his face in her hands. His eyes were closed; his body taut. "What's wrong? Are you all right??"  
  
His back bent. "My scar..." he managed to get out.   
  
Hermione paled. "Harry...your scar only hurts when..."  
  
A blood-curdling scream cut her off. It was followed immediately by another. Both seemed to be coming from a great distance away. Somewhere in the vicinity of the Great Hall.   
  
They both jumped to their feet; Hermione put an arm around Harry's waist to steady him. Fear clutched at both of them. They were about to make a simultaneous advance for the door when little Harry appeared on the stairs, pajama clad and sleepy-eyed.  
  
"Mum? What was that?"  
  
"Go back to bed, Harry." Hermione's voice was firm, but frightened. "Don't leave your room for anything, do you understand?" He nodded; his eyes were now wide. Turning on his heel, he ran back up the stairs.   
  
Together, Hermione and Harry stumbled out the door and down the hallway. When they stepped out into the main corridor, they were surprised to find themselves in total darkness. Not a candle nor a lantern was lit. The bits of sky they could see through the windows were completely black.   
  
"They've come for them." They whipped around upon hearing Miss Belle's voice. She was sitting at the bottom of her frame, with her knees tucked up to her chin. Her frail shoulders shook. "They've come..."  
  
Hermione failed to keep her voice from wobbling. "Who's come?"  
  
Miss Belle refused to answer. She simply buried her face in her skirts. Harry grabbed Hermione's hand, valiantly ignoring the shooting pain in his scar. From the main corridor, they could hear more screams and a huge wave of raised voices. "Come on. I think we need to get to the Hall."  
  
"Harry," Hermione whispered after a few minutes. "I can't see anything."  
  
He held her hand tighter. "I know." Fumbling in his pocket for a moment, he produced his wand. "Lumos!"   
  
A shimmering light appeared at the end of his wand, but it only managed to illuminate a small area around them. Harry pushed on until they reached the staircase that would take them down to the Great Hall. The shouts and cries were getting louder; there was fear in the air, so thick that they could almost taste it.   
  
Harry ran to the double wide doors that led into the Hall and pulled. They would not budge. He thought quickly. "Alohomora!" Still, they remained closed.   
  
"It's not merely locked," Hermione surmised. "It's some sort of spell keeping them closed. Try 'diffindo'."   
  
He raised his wand. "Diffindo!" The heavy wood split; they jumped back as a huge piece fell to the ground. Harry took a breath and lifted his voice to be heard over all the shouting. "Let's..." He was cut off by a small body, running out of the newly opened door. Harry managed to catch the child's collar before he ran by. It was a Ravenclaw second year, Alan Fitch. "Alan....tell us what's happened."  
  
The boy was nearly crying. "All the...all the lights went out. And then...people just started screaming!"   
  
Harry let the boy go. "Get to your dormitory and stay there." Alan ran off. Several more children streamed past them, running for safety. Harry felt for Hermione's hand again; it was cold and clammy, just like his. With as much bravado as they could muster, they entered the Hall.   
  
The light from Harry's wand was still needed; when they looked up at the enchanted ceiling, all they saw were dark clouds covering every star and the entire moon. The Hall was pitch black, but certainly not silent. Cries and screams echoed all around them, along with the voices of the other Professors and the prefects shouting instructions to the Houses.   
  
"Hufflepuffs....over here..."  
  
"Band together, Gryffindors..."  
  
Hermione clutched Harry's arm. "What's going on?"  
  
"I don't know." His brow was furred as he tried to sort out the chaos around them. "If I didn't know better...I'd say the entire school was under some sort of attack."   
  
She never got a chance to reply. Right then, something or someone ran straight for Hermione. All she could sense was a massive figure coming towards her, muttering a phrase she couldn't understand, and then she was knocked into Harry. It was the last thing she would remember for a long time.   
  
Harry caught her before she could slump to the ground. "Hermione?!" When she didn't reply, he directed his wand's light over her face. Her eyes were closed; her face deathly pale. She was unconscious, but breathing. "Hermione...wake up!"   
  
"It's no good." Harry nearly jumped upon hearing Snape's voice. The older man came into the circle of light; a bloody gash marred his cheek. "No one who's been touched by one of them is waking up."   
  
"One of them? Who are they? What's going on?" Harry pulled Hermione's body closer to his. "What's happened to her??"  
  
Snape wiped at his cheek, succeeding only in smearing the blood. "I don't know who they are or how they got onto the grounds. Broomstick, perhaps. But they knocked out all the lights and just started..." He made a gesture with his hands. "...attacking people."   
  
As soon as the words left his mouth, all of the candles came to life, flooding the Hall with light. Harry winced. "Nox," he said, undoing the light spell on his wand.   
  
Whoever they were, they were gone. In their wake, they left the Great Hall of Hogwarts resembling a battlefield. The long tables were broken in several different places. Food and dishes were scattered everywhere. But far more disturbing were the children, the huge groups of them, huddled together for safety...and the thirty or so laying on the floor, unconscious.   
  
Harry searched for Dumbledore. He was at the head table; Professor McGonagall was helping him to his feet. He looked, perhaps, the most affected Harry had ever seen him look. He raised his voice as much as he could to be heard over the lingering cries and sobs. "Professors....please see to the children. Prefects....take your Houses back to the dormitories."   
  
His orders were followed immediately. Shock was beginning to set in; the children Harry watched leave the Great Hall were not the same as they had been only that afternoon. He looked down at Hermione. She showed no signs of stirring. With the greatest of care, he picked her up, cradling her in his arms.   
  
"Lay her on the table," Snape instructed, harkening back to the days when Harry had been merely his student. Harry didn't seem to care; he gently set Hermione down on a table that wasn't broken. The other professors were doing the same with the fallen children.   
  
Hagrid ran over, crushing a turned-over bench in his haste. "Not 'ermione..." He hit the table, causing her still body to jerk. "Whoev'r the bastards are...we'll git 'em, 'arry."   
  
Harry only nodded and tucked a lock of hair behind Hermione's ear. Snape begin to speak as he looked around the room at the victims. "Hamilton Berry....Clarissa Houseman....Thomas Mead...." He looked down. "Hermione.... They're all..."  
  
"Muggle-born." Dumbledore approached them. Snape opened his mouth again, but he continued, "Let's not dwell on the details just yet. The important thing is reviving those who have fallen and securing the safety of the rest of the school. Let's move as many as possible to the Hospital Wing. And then, I'd like you, Hagrid, to make a full sweep of the school." His eyes darkened. "I want to know exactly how Hogwarts was violated."  
  
Harry heard none of this. All he could do was hold onto Hermione, as though he could send his strength into her. He rested his forehead against hers; a tear slipped out of his eye and landed on her cheek.  
  
*Please be all right....please wake up....please don't leave us.*  
  
****  
  
To Be Continued 


	6. Cruciatus Curse

Disclaimer: Many characters, thoughts, ideas, etc do not belong to me, nor do I make any claim that they do. So there.  
  
Author's Notes: Sorry for the delay! Exams came and went (I got all A's expect for a tiny little C+ in Japanese) and then Christmas came and went and somehow, writing this chapter became like pulling teeth. But it's done and I have a clear outline for the next one, so all is right again. Thanks for all the wonderful comments since the last chapter; they've kept me going.  
  
Dedication: To Christin, a new inductee into the Fan Fiction club. Check out her Harry Potter story; her author name is C. Shumaker. The Creative Writing department at our college is about to give her a degree next semester; I think you'll like her work a lot;)  
  
****  
  
An Organ of Fire  
by Kristen Elizabeth  
  
****  
  
"Well, I'm in Gryffindor and I have nipples." - My friends and I....it would take *way* too long to explain.  
  
****  
  
He woke to something warm wetting his scalp through his hair. Harry opened his eyes; sometime during the night, he had fallen asleep. His cheek was pressed against Hermione's breast. For a moment, he thought he might still be in the arms of a delicious dream. He sat up suddenly when he remembered where they were. The Hospital Wing. The morning after the attacks.  
  
Harry looked down at her. She was as she had been for nearly twelve hours. Pale and silent. Only now...tears streamed down her cheeks despite her tightly shut eyelids.   
  
"Hermione..." He ran a thumb over her cheekbone. "Come on, sweetheart. Just open your eyes....please."  
  
"Ah, good. You're awake, Harry." He could sense the comforting presence of Dumbledore behind him before he heard his voice.   
  
Harry withdrew his hand. "She's not, though." He glanced over his shoulder, past the old wizard. All of the Hospital Wing's beds were full of the children who had been attacked. Some of them were just sitting up; others were already standing. But they were all conscious. "Why isn't she?" He ran a hand through his unruly hair. "Why won't she wake up?"  
  
Dumbledore placed a hand on his shoulder. "I wish I could tell you, Harry. But even Madam Pomfrey doesn't know. She's at a loss, what with even the Mandrake potion not working."  
  
Harry wiped his eyes under his glasses and took Hermione's hand again. "What *do* we know?"  
  
"Hagrid is still inspecting the grounds, but we've not yet ruled out the possibility that they might have flown here." He paused. "Of course...that would mean they knew our exact location, which would mean..."  
  
"Which would mean that they were former students," Harry finished for him. "But we knew that already, right? I mean...this is obviously a spell's doing." He swallowed. "What they've done to her. But what kind of spell and how is it that everyone has recovered, but her?"  
  
Dumbledore hesitated. "I believe Hermione is under a form of the Cruciatus Curse. But rather than physical pain, she's been forced into a state of mental torture. All of the children have told me about the terrible dreams they experienced while under the spell. Far worse than any normal nightmares."   
  
As Dumbledore spoke, Harry rubbed his thumb in circles on the soft back of Hermione's hand. "But they all woke up. They escaped the nightmares. She's still locked into them. Why? Why her??"  
  
"I do have an idea." The old wizard spoke with immense regret. "The curse put on her was far stronger than the children." He lowered his voice. "Whoever did this wanted to make her suffer most of all."  
  
"I can't imagine anyone wanting to hurt someone as good as Hermione. I mean, what did she ever do to..." Fear gripped Harry's throat, preventing him from speaking for several long moments. "Oh no..." He shook his head. "No, no, no...it can't be that...I mean, this is why I left, so this wouldn't..."  
  
"Harry, her parents are Muggles. And the children targeted were all Muggle-born."  
  
He was beyond hearing. "They're after me. They're using her to get to me. This is all my..."  
  
"Don't do that, Harry." Dumbledore was firm. "Taking the blame isn't going to help her at all."  
  
Harry nodded, but deep inside, the guilt had already taken its hold on him. The fear that if it weren't for him, Hermione would be just fine, wasn't going anywhere.  
  
"Professor Dumbledore, sir." Hagrid appeared, virtually from nowhere, behind them. Harry hadn't even heard him enter the room. He looked more grim than Harry could ever recall having seen him look   
  
"Where is the boy?" the old man asked.  
  
"Just outside. He's bin askin' 'bout his mum. I told him a wee bit." Hagrid sighed. "Do yer think it'd be good fer him ter see her like this?"  
  
Dumbledore looked at Harry. "What do you think?"  
  
Harry hesitated, but only for a moment. "Let him come in. I'll be right here with him."  
  
In the space of only a minute, his son had approached the bed and stood next to him, looking down at his mother's still body. Harry watched him very closely. After a long time, little Harry turned his face up. "When will she get better?"  
  
"I don't know," Harry replied, truthfully. "Someone's put a curse on her..." He swallowed. "It could be awhile."  
  
"But she will wake up, right?"  
  
Harry bit the inside of his cheek. "Of course she will. Your mother is...she's the strongest woman I know."  
  
Little Harry glanced back down at his mother. "Professor Potter...do you think that if I talked to her, she could hear me?"   
  
"I don't really..." He paused. "I think you should definitely try, Harry."   
  
Dumbledore backed up a few steps. "We'll give you a minute, lad," he told the boy.  
  
"Could Professor Potter stay? Please?"   
  
A smile peaked out from the snowy depths of Dumbledore's beard. "Of course. Hagrid, let's go, shall we?" The two men quickly left.   
  
His son climbed up on the bed next to Hermione. "Mum?" he whispered. "Can you hear me?" When she failed to even flutter an eyelash, little Harry sighed. "I hope you can." He stopped and looked up at Harry. "What do I say, Professor?"  
  
Harry knelt next to the bed, to be at his son's eye level. "Just talk to her. That's all we can do."  
  
"All right." Little Harry drew in a valiant breath. "Mum...if you can hear me...please wake up. Please? I'll do anything, I promise! I'll clean my room every day...I won't run in the hallways...I'll even be nice to Miss Belle." His chin wobbled. "Just please wake up." Harry put a hesitant arm around his son. Little Harry sniffed. "I don't think she can hear me, Professor."  
  
"I wish I could tell you for sure," Harry replied whole-heartedly. His son lowered his red head; his shoulders trembled. Harry tightened the arm around the boy. "It's all right to cry, you know. Truth be told, I did a bit of that myself earlier."   
  
Little Harry leaned into his shoulder. "I'm afraid she won't wake up, Professor. Just like Dad didn't."  
  
"Your mother is strong, Harry."  
  
The child rubbed at his eyes. "So was Dad." He glanced up at Harry. There was an awkward beat of silence. "Your eyes are the same color as mine."  
  
Harry blinked, noticing the emerald color of his son's eyes for the very first time. "Yes. They are."  
  
If the boy found anything unusual about this, he said nothing. Rather, he returned his cheek to Harry's shoulder. "If Dad were here, he'd make everything all right again."  
  
On a sudden, but instinctive impulse Harry wrapped his arms around his son, hugging him fiercely. "It *will* be all right," he whispered. "I promise."  
  
**Hermione...come back to him. He needs you. Come back to me. I need you.**  
  
****  
  
She awoke in a large, flat, mist-covered field. As she regained her bearings, she realized she was standing in *the* place. The place where Harry had nearly been taken from the world, from her, forever. The sight of the final battle with the fully restored, deadly powerful Voldemort.   
  
One hand pressed her chest; she looked down. Instead of her skirt and blouse, she was clad in her old school robes. She put a hand to her head; her hair was bushy and wild. Her fingers flew back to her throat, but no rose quartz necklace greeted them. She stood on shaky legs. Was she alone?   
  
There was a loud snap. She spun around. No, she definitely wasn't alone. Through the fog, she could just make out two dark shapes. As she walked closer, the pieces of her memories came together. Harry. Voldemort. Facing off, wands raised. Ready to kill one another.   
  
Her mouth opened. "Harry!!" she screamed.   
  
His head swung to the side. Blood covered one side of his face, flowing freely from his freshly re-opened scar. He waved his free arm at her. "Get out of here, Hermione! Now!!"  
  
"No! I won't leave..." Her voice faded as Voldemort raised his wand even higher. "Harry..."  
  
"Hermione, go! Please!! I can't protect you if you don't...."   
  
"Harry, look out!!!"  
  
But he looked too late. Laughing all the while, Voldemort let loose with his final curse. "AVADA KEDAVRA!"  
  
She watched, helpless, as the greenish light shot out of Voldemort's wand. It hit Harry square in his chest. He threw his head back and screamed in agony. Voldemort's laughter failed to drown out the sounds of Harry dying. Harry's legs gave out under him; he hit the ground with a sickening thud. With the final bit of energy he had, he looked over at her. He tried to speak, but before he could form the words, he was gone.   
  
"Harry?" Her voice was tiny compared to the enormity of the silence. Harry's body...it was so still. So bloody.... "Harry?" Her stomach ached; Hermione bent at the waist, clutching her arms around her body. "No...no, no, no, no. No....please." Tears clouded her vision and choked her. "No...this isn't..." She swallowed. "This isn't how it ends." Hermione turned on Voldemort. "This isn't how it's supposed to end!!"  
  
"Ah, but we're on my time now." Voldemort pointed his wand at Harry's body. "I can do whatever I want. I can bring him back." With a flick of his wrist, Harry opened his eyes. He struggled to his feet and looked at her. His emerald eyes were alive and well. Voldemort grinned. "And I can take him away again." He waved his wand, striking Harry down once more.   
  
"STOP IT!!!" Hermione screamed as she watched Harry die a second painful death. Tears rolled down her cheeks. "Stop!! Please!!!"  
  
Voldemort laughed. "But it's such fun!!" He approached her, extending one bony arm out and cupping her chin. His fingers were cold and felt like a snake's skin. "Welcome to my world, little Mudblood. The world that exists only in your nightmares." He rose Harry again and prepared to strike. "I hope you'll hate it here."  
  
****  
  
"Harry."  
  
"No...I don't need to rest."  
  
Madam Pomfrey put her hands on her hips. "Harry Potter. Do not make me repeat myself. You have been here for five days and I've barely seen you eat." Her nose wrinkled. "Much less bathe. Now if I have to, I will get Professor Dumbledore to order to take care of yourself, but I'm hoping you'll simply realize that, admirable as it is, watching her for every waking moment isn't going to speed along her recovery one bit."  
  
"I'm not leaving her." Harry readjusted his grip on Hermione's pale hand. "She's in pain; I can feel it. God only knows what's going on in her mind." He shook his head. "No, I can't go. I won't go."  
  
The older woman sighed. "You know I would send for you if she happened to..."  
  
"I'm. Not. Leaving."  
  
"You were *much* more cooperative when you were a child!" Madam Pomfrey crossed her arms. "If you won't do it for yourself, then do it for the boy."  
  
Harry turned his head to look at the medical witch. "Harry? What about him?"  
  
"He's been wandering the grounds like he was one of the ghosts. Not that anybody's minded, of course." Her tone was sad. "Most of the children are gone now. Parents have been pulling them out, left and right. Especially the Muggle parents."  
  
He glanced around the Hospital Wing, noticing for the first time in nearly a week how quiet and empty it was. "What about classes?"  
  
"Suspended indefinitely." She bustled around the bed and took up Hermione's other wrist to check her pulse. "Never thought I'd see the day when someone would bring down Hogwarts."  
  
Harry's eyes flashed. "No one's brought down Hogwarts."  
  
"Yes. Well..." Madam Pomfrey gently set down her patient's arm. "About the boy. There hasn't really been anyone to look after him in the past few days. If you won't leave her side to take care of yourself, at least look in on him. Poor tyke...losing both parents..."  
  
"Hermione's not lost," Harry reminded her, firmly. He ran his thumb across the backs of Hermione's knuckles. "All right. I'll check on him." The woman lifted an eyebrow. "After I take a shower."  
  
"And...?" she prompted.  
  
"And eat something."  
  
Madam Pomfrey nodded. "Off with you then."   
  
Harry reluctantly set down Hermione's hand, but not before he raised it to his lips. "I won't be long," he promised her. He stood and stretched his cramped muscles. "You'll call..."  
  
"The very second she starts to stir, Harry." Madam Pomfrey pointed to the door. Harry took the hint and headed out of the Hospital Wing.   
  
Thirty minutes later, after he was showered and dressed in fresh clothes, he found himself heading for the Great Hall. Little Harry wasn't in his apartment; that had been the first place Harry had checked. He breathed a little sigh of relief to find the boy seated at one of the magically repaired tables, picking at a plate of food. There were several students, a couple of Griffindors and Hufflepuffs, eating a quick breakfast. Most of them had boxes and trunks piled next to their benches, obviously ready to return home as soon as they ate.   
  
Harry approached his son quietly. "Is this seat taken?" He pointed to the long, empty bench. The boy shook his head and Harry sat next to him. "What are you eating?"  
  
"The house-elves sent up kippers." His voice was listless. "But I don't like kippers."  
  
"What would you like?"  
  
Little Harry shrugged. "I'm not really hungry."   
  
"I see." Harry looked down at the golden plate in front of him. Without any fanfare, it suddenly filled with eggs, bacon and grilled tomatoes. "Would you like some of mine?"  
  
His son couldn't hide the interest in his eyes when he spied Harry's bacon. "You don't mind, Professor Potter?"   
  
"Not at all." Harry transferred most of his bacon onto the boy's plate. "You need to eat. Your mother would have a fit if she thought you weren't eating properly."  
  
Little Harry cut into his bacon with some spark of enthusiasm. "Is Mum all right? Hagrid told me I could go see her as much as I'd like, but..." He swallowed. "I don't like seeing her like that. Is that wrong of me, Professor?"  
  
"No." Harry poked his fork through a tomato. "It's not, Harry."  
  
"But, she's all right, isn't she?"  
  
He saw no point in lying to the child. "She's not worse. But she's not any better either."  
  
The boy lowered his fork. "I see." He pushed away his plate. "Thank you for your bacon, Professor." He started to climb off the bench.   
  
Harry swallowed a mouthful of eggs. "Wait a minute. Where are you going?" Little Harry raised his shoulders. Harry stood up, abandoning his breakfast. "I have an idea. Do you still want to learn to play Quidditch?"  
  
Little Harry's green eyes lit up. "Of course!"  
  
"Well then...there's no time like the present." Harry put a hand on his son's shoulder. "The main courtyard should be fairly empty. Meet me there in ten minutes. I just need to get the chest."  
  
Fifteen minutes found a very eager ten year old Harry and a slightly nervous twenty-eight year old Harry out in the open courtyard of the school, dragging along a heavy chest. "I assume you've seen at least one Quidditch match before," Harry asked.  
  
"Oh, I've seen lots! Dad loved Quidditch. He taught me what all the balls were when I was five. We used to go to all the Chudley Cannons games played in England. And we were supposed to go to the World Tournament last year...it was in France, but..." The boy stopped. "Dad died the week before the games started."  
  
Harry knelt in front of the chest and opened it up. It rocked with the movements of the restrained Bludgers. "I remember the day Ron made it onto the Gryffindor team. He was Chaser...a damn good one. But I'm sure he told you all about it."   
  
Little Harry nodded. "I think he wanted me to be a Chaser someday, too. But I want to be a Seeker."   
  
"You do, do you?" Harry smiled. "It's the toughest job of all."  
  
"Exactly."  
  
Chuckling, Harry plucked the Golden Snitch from its compartment within the chest. He held it out to his son. "Let it go and follow it with your eyes. A Seeker has to be able to follow the Snitch no matter where it moves or how fast. The entire game depends on the Seeker's ability to track the nearly untrackable."  
  
The boy released the Snitch into the air. His eyes darted about as the Snitch flew circles in front of him. "I didn't know it was this hard to see."   
  
"You'll get used to it," Harry assured him.   
  
Little Harry's brow furred in concentration. He continued to follow the Snitch with an intense stare. "Professor Potter...Dad said you went away. Where did you go?"  
  
Harry sat back on the grass. "Um...all over. I went off to see the world, I guess you could say. I had never seen anything farther than Scotland in my whole life."  
  
"Do you like the rest of the world?"  
  
"I liked most of it," Harry replied. He looked up at the looming spirals of the castle. "I still think this is the best place in the world, though."   
  
Little Harry dropped his gaze as the Snitch flew out of his sight. "Did you come back because Dad died?" Harry shook his head. "I think my dad missed you."  
  
"Why do you...say that?"  
  
The boy shrugged. "I bet he would have been happy that you came back."   
  
"Harry..." He phrased his question carefully. "Could you tell me what you remember....about the day he died?"  
  
It took a moment for his son to reply. "Dad was in the middle of this really big thing at work and when he finally got a day off, he wanted to do something really fun." Little Harry drew his knees up to his chest. "Sometimes, we'd dress up and go into London, pretending to be Muggles. Mum didn't really like to do it, but only 'cause she's too good at it."  
  
Harry frowned. "London is awfully far for a day trip."   
  
"We didn't live here then. We lived in Bedford. Dad worked in London."  
  
"But I thought your mother had been a Professor for awhile."  
  
Little Harry shook his head. "She started right after Dad died. We had to move here."   
  
The older man nodded. "I see." He indicted that the child should continue.   
  
"We were visiting Westminister Abbey and there was this big scaffold thing over the door." He tugged at the cuff of his pants. "When we walked under it, it started to fall. Dad pushed me out of the way. And then Mum." He paused. "And then it fell."   
  
Harry leaned towards him. "It just fell? Did anyone touch it? Was there anyone around that you recognized?"  
  
The boy's lip trembled. "I don't know, Professor. I can't remember...I just....when they pulled Dad out, I tried to get him to wake up...and he wouldn't. He wouldn't wake up."  
  
"It's all right." Harry reached out to touch his son's rust-colored head. "I'm sorry. I didn't mean to make you upset."  
  
Little Harry sniffed. "You didn't." There was a beat of silence. "I lied, Professor."  
  
"About what?"  
  
His son lowered his eyes, ashamed. "Someone did touch the scaffolding. Me." Before Harry could say anything, he went on, in quite a rush. "I didn't mean to bump into it! But that stupid Bronson..." He trailed off, obviously too angry to continue.  
  
"Um...who's Bronson?"  
  
Little Harry scrunched up his face. "Bronson Malfoy. The worst person in the whole world! He really is, Professor! He's always going on about how his dad has money and..."  
  
Harry cut him off. "How old is he, Harry?"  
  
"My age." The boy crossed his arms. "We went to children's school together in London. I don't think he can even read; he was always cheating off of my..."  
  
"And his father?"  
  
The boy blinked. "Mr. Malfoy. Dad called him Draco once."  
  
There was no time for Harry to absorb this new piece of information. There was a small, but insistent voice from one of the balconies overlooking the courtyard. Both of them glanced up. Barely visible from so high up, Madam Pomfrey was hanging over the stone railing, waving down at them.   
  
"She...up!!" Harry could just make out. He blinked. The woman cupped her hands around her mouth and yelled louder. "Hermoine is waking up!"  
  
Harry jumped to his feet. "Harry! Your mother is..."   
  
The boy was already standing. A huge smile lit up his face. It fell suddenly, replaced by a look of concentration. Little Harry reached out and plucked something from the air. The Golden Snitch. He looked at the ball in his hand and then back up at Harry. "C'mon, Professor!"  
  
As his son raced off into the castle, Harry shook his head. In his preoccupation, he hadn't even noticed the Snitch flying around them.  
  
When he finally made it into the Hospital Wing, Hermione was already sitting up in bed. The greatest wave of relief washed over him to see her awake, holding onto their son with as much strength as she had. She looked up as he came in; so many emotions flashed through her eyes as they met his. It was overwhelming.   
  
"Hermione," Harry whispered. She smiled and lowered her head to kiss the top of her son's head. He cleared his throat. "You had us all worried," he continued, in what he hoped was a light tone.  
  
Hermione glanced back up. Her eyes were red, filled to the brim with hot tears. "I'm sorry."  
  
He walked over and knelt next to the bed. "Please don't be." He ached to touch her, but with little Harry wrapped around her, he dared not. "I'm just glad you decided to come back to us."  
  
"I almost..." She closed her eyes, letting the tears spill over. "...didn't." One hand moved from their son's head and sought his. Harry laced his fingers with hers and squeezed lightly. "Harry..." She drew in a breath. "I know...I know who..."  
  
"Shh, it's all right." He dropped a soft kiss onto her fingers. "You don't have to talk right now. There'll be time later to..."  
  
"No." Hermione struggled to sit up some more. Little Harry refused to let go of her. He buried his face deeper into her shoulder. "I have to Harry." After another breath, she pushed on. "I know who did this, Harry. I saw it all."  
  
"Hermione..."  
  
"It was him, Harry. *Him*!"  
  
His scar throbbed. After a long moment, Harry spoke. "Voldemort is...back."  
  
****  
  
To Be Continued 


	7. Love Potion (#9)

Disclaimer: Le sigh. You know it, I know it, everyone with a brain knows it. Do I have to say it again?  
  
Author's Notes: Sorry this part took so very long. Classes are really rough this semester. I am totally slapping my wrist for taking poetry and fiction technique classes at the same time. Anyways, I hope you enjoy this and thanks again for all the terrific feedback.  
  
Dedication: To my brother who needs some cheering up. "At least you don't have diabetes." In other words, keep your chin up.  
  
****  
  
An Organ of Fire  
by Kristen Elizabeth  
  
****  
  
"It's worse than coke; it's like crack! I've become a crack whore. Fifteen dollar handjob, man. I *need* my HP!!!" -my best friend, RE: her Harry Potter addiction  
  
****  
  
"Hermione...they're about to start." With his hands in his pockets, Harry walked out onto the balcony. The mid-November air was cold and wet; he visibly shivered. "Hermione?"  
  
She was standing at the stone railing, looking out over the lake. The light from the full moon tangled in her hair, giving her an ethereal glow. "I'm here," she replied, softly. "I'll be there in just a moment."  
  
Harry walked until he was standing just behind her. "It's cold...you shouldn't stay out here for too long."  
  
"Harry..." Slightly exasperated, she leaned back against his chest. "I appreciate your concern, but I'm not a child. And I'm perfectly fine."   
  
He took a deep breath, inhaling the delicious honeysuckle fragrance of her hair. "All right...it has nothing to do with the cold." Placing his hands on her shoulders, he gently guided her around to face him. "With all that's going on, it makes me very nervous when you're alone, outside, in the dark." His shoulders lifted. "If that makes me seem maternal, so be it."  
  
Hermione smiled. "Not maternal, just..." She lifted her chin and gave him a soft kiss. "...overprotective. But in a good way, I suppose."  
  
"This meeting won't last long, you know." Harry traced the edge of her jaw with his finger. "Afterwards, we could go somewhere and..."  
  
She pulled back ever so slightly. "I have to get back home as soon as it's over. I promised Harry I'd be there to tuck him in."  
  
He nodded and hoped he didn't look too disappointed. Just then, someone cleared their throat, rather loudly. They broke apart quickly. From the edge of the balcony, Snape gave them an apathetic look. "If you two don't mind, there is important business to be discussed. But then we wouldn't want the investigation of the attack on our school to stand in the way of a terminal case of puppy love, would we?" Turning on his heel, he headed back into the castle.  
  
Harry looked back at her. "You know...he *was* sort of worried about you on Halloween."  
  
"Sticking up for Snape now, are we, Harry?"  
  
"Well..." He gave her the grin that made her heart flip over. "Not sticking up for, so much as apologizing." Harry took her hand. "Are you ready?"  
  
After a breath, she nodded. "I'm ready."  
  
Still hand in hand, Harry and Hermione followed Snape's path into the castle, headed for the Great Hall. Even though it was a Wednesday evening, in the middle of the school year, there were no students to be found anywhere. No laughter drifted through the hallways, no hum of voices and the clatter of hundreds of forks meeting plates greeted them as they entered the Hall. Hogwarts was silent and very near empty. It made Harry's heart ache.   
  
And, he had to admit, his blood boil.   
  
There were only a few people waiting for them at the head table. Dumbledore was seated in the tallest chair with Professors McGonagall and Snape on either side. Hagrid was there, seated between Professor McGonagall and someone Harry couldn't make out very well. The man had a dark cloak pulled high around his neck and was leaning in, his face turned away, as he spoke to the half-giant.   
  
Harry gave Hermione's hand a squeeze. "Seems rather like an inquisition, doesn't it?" She smiled nervously.   
  
"Harry...Hermione." Dumbledore gestured to two empty seats next to Snape. "Please join us." They did as he asked, with Harry sitting directly next to the Potions master, so Hermione wouldn't have to. Dumbledore cleared his throat. "Hagrid, we'll start by hearing from you."  
  
Breaking off his conversation with the hooded stranger, Hagrid stood up. "Well...af'er a lon' search, I've come ter th' reckonin' that th' attackers flew in on broomstick. Ev'ry entrance were sealed up tigh'." Harry opened his mouth. "Aye, ev'n th' secret ones, 'arry. Since it were impos'ble fer them ter Ap'rate, they must'erve flown in. There's no ot'er way."  
  
"Thank you, Hagrid," Dumbledore said. The huge man sat down. "We all realize that this means the attackers started out from somewhere nearby. The journey from anywhere else by broomstick is unthinkable."  
  
Snape spoke up. "They could have traveled by some other means to somewhere nearby...Hogsmeade, perhaps...and then flown in."  
  
"We should talk to the shopkeepers," Harry suggested. "See if any large, strange groups were seen around Halloween."  
  
"Minerva, do you think you could do that?" Dumbledore asked.  
  
"I could certainly try," she replied.  
  
Dumbledore nodded. "The Ministry of Magic has given me full reign over this investigation. In fact, they seem to want little to do with it. The Aurors claim to have an on-going inquiry, but it's mostly just to placate the outraged parents. Everyone wants an explanation, but no one is willing to search for one." He looked at his closest staff. "That's why I'm going to need each and every one of you to find the responsible parties. Only when they are caught will the children return." His eyes were sad. "Hogwarts needs its students. Never, in all the many centuries, has something like this happened. We've experienced everything from trolls to basilisks to dementors, but nothing, absolutely nothing has ever paralyzed this school until now. Which is why I've asked someone else to join in our efforts." Dumbledore glanced past Hagrid to the hooded figure. "I'm sure no introductions will be necessary."  
  
Harry looked over, curiously. His puzzled face melted away as the newcomer quietly removed his hood. "Sirius!" he exclaimed.   
  
His godfather smiled at him. "It's been a very long time, Harry." It was not the time for a reunion. The older man cleared his throat and addressed the matter at hand. "The one thing that the Aurors have agreed to do about this is investigate shops on Knockturn Alley that possess spellbooks with the sort of curse I believe was placed on the children. And Hermione."   
  
The woman in question raised a tentative hand. "How do we know exactly what that was? I know I don't remember what the man said as he was coming at me."  
  
"Process of elimination," Sirius replied. "There aren't that many known curses that could have had this sort of effect."  
  
"What about unknown ones?" Harry asked, grimly.   
  
Sirius blinked as though the thought of an original curse had never even occurred to him. "That would take a wizard of enormous power, Harry. Far beyond the capacity of anyone alive today."   
  
Hermione paled. Harry glanced at her before he spoke. "I'm sure we can all think of at least one wizard who posessed that sort of ability."  
  
All eyes were on him. Snape raised an eyebrow. "Are you suggesting that..."  
  
"I'm not suggesting," Harry stated. "I'm saying very plainly." He took a deep breath. "Voldemort has risen."  
  
There was a long minute of silence as the people at the table digested his words. Finally, Dumbledore spoke. "And how do you know this, Harry?"  
  
"I saw him," Hermione said quickly, as though the memory would hurt less if she got the words out as fast as possible. "While I was under the curse. He called it...he called my thoughts his world." She closed her eyes. "I can't even begin to describe what he...the things he did were..." Harry felt for her hand under the table and threaded his fingers through hers. "It was horrible," Hermione continued. "And he's the only one who could have done it to me."  
  
The look Sirius gave her was sympathetic. "While I understand that what you went through was intense, Hermione, I don't believe that there's ample proof in just that to say that..."  
  
Harry jumped to her defense. "My scar has been hurting again," he blurted out. "It was the worst on Halloween, right before we heard the first screams." He licked his lips, anxiously. "The only times my scar ever hurt was when Voldemort was up to something."  
  
After clearing his throat, Sirius simply stated, "Harry. You killed him."  
  
"And you don't think there's any possible way he could have come back?!" Hermione winced as Harry's grip on her hand intensified along with the fervor of his words. "Let's think about this, Sirius. My scar, Hermione's dreams, an attack on the school's Muggle-born, the rise of anti-Muggle sentiment...it all fits together! Voldemort is gathering strength." Sirius opened his mouth to speak, but Harry cut him off. "Yes, I thought I killed him, too, but I must not have. He must have found a way to survive and has just been....waiting for ten years. He's done it before; this all fits perfectly into his pattern. Don't you see?! Voldemort is preparing to re-enter the world." He took a breath. "And he's using Draco Malfoy to do it."  
  
Sirius frowned. "Draco Malfoy doesn't have enough brains to be even Voldemort's pawn, Harry. He's just a spoiled wizard who never grew up. Nothing more." Harry shot a glance at Snape, still expecting even after all the years for Snape to stand up for Malfoy. To his own credit, Snape had no reaction to Sirius' words.  
  
"One doesn't need brains to be Voldemort's key to re-entering the world. I think that Wormtail proved that." Harry took a breath. "Would you at least just consider the possibility? I wouldn't make this up."  
  
"No one is calling you a liar, Harry," Dumbledore assured him. He glanced around at the others who were all still contemplating Harry's announcement, as evidenced by their perplexed expressions. "For now, let's continue our investigation, leaving no stone unturned. Especially ones that Voldemort may be hiding under." The joke did nothing to lighten the mood. "Everyone is free to go."   
  
As the others stood up, Harry slumped back into his chair. "None of them believe me."   
  
Hermione reached for Harry's hand. "You did all you could do."  
  
"Why do I get the feeling that they still think of me as a child?"   
  
"I suppose that's what happens when you let ten years go by," Sirius replied before Hermione had a chance to. The look he gave Harry was a strange one, the result of his desire to both embrace and strangle his godchild.   
  
"I meant to write..." the younger man began as he stood up.   
  
"And I did. Many times." Sirius sighed. "I thought you were dead for awhile."   
  
Harry bit his tongue. *So did I,* he thought. Lowering his eyes, he acknowledged his godfather's words. "I am sorry."   
  
Giving in, Sirius pulled Harry into a quick hug. "At least you came back to us." He looked down at Hermione. "To all of us."   
  
"Sirius," Harry started, determined to convince the other man of the danger they all now faced. "I am being serious. About Voldemort."   
  
His father's best friend shook his head. "Harry...I saw Voldemort's robes. There is not a doubt in my mind that you killed him ten years ago. And to my knowledge, no wizard in history has ever been able to rise from the grave."   
  
"If you don't believe it's him, then at least accept the fact that he still has followers." Harry's lip curled up. "And that Draco Malfoy is most likely in charge of them."  
  
Sirius reached up to scratch the back of his head. "The younger Malfoy has been getting more attention lately than he deserves. You know what he's really upset about, don't you?"  
  
Hermione spoke up. "Muggles at Hogwarts?"  
  
The older man nodded. "Especially since his son will be starting here next year." He paused. "Your son, too, right?"  
  
"Yes," Harry replied without thinking. "I mean...her son. Harry...little Harry. Her son."   
  
Hermione stood up, tired of being dwarfed by the two men. "Speaking of Harry, I need to get back to him." She lifted her chin to kiss Sirius' cheek. "It is good to see you again." Her gaze brushed over Harry. "Goodnight."   
  
After she was gone, Sirius glanced at Harry. His godson was still watching the end of the hall, although Hermione had already disappeared from view. "Do you still fancy her?" The color of Harry's cheeks betrayed him. Sirius had to smile. "I'll take that as a 'yes'."  
  
Harry cleared his throat. "So...Draco has a son?"  
  
Sirius nodded, as though the sudden switch in topic did not catch him off guard at all. "A boy. Bronson. Born around the same time as your own son."   
  
He took guilty pleasure at seeing Harry throw up his hands. "If it's so easy for everyone to figure out, why isn't it out in the open?" his godson asked out loud.   
  
"We should talk about this somewhere else." Sirius caught Snape watching them out of the corner of his eye. Taking Harry's arm, he steered the younger man out of the Great Hall. As they started out through the corridors, Sirius began to speak again. "Most people don't look too deep, Harry. When they see a red-haired child and a man with red hair, they put two and two together too rapidly. As for Dumbledore and myself...we simply looked deeper."  
  
"I see." Harry sighed. "Well, my personal life is hardly the real issue here." He came to a stop in front of the portrait door that led to the professor's apartments. Miss Belle was dozing, her chin resting on her decollaged chest. "I need to know everything about Ron's death." Sirius started to speak, but Harry cut him off. "And it's not just for my own benefit...or for some sort of lingering grudge against Malfoy. It's for my son. Sirius, he believes it was his fault! I can't let him go on thinking that."  
  
Sirus lowered his head. "At the time...I told them they should have put it in the report."  
  
Harry frowned. "Put what in the report?"  
  
"Malfoy was there, Harry." His godfather tucked his hands into his black robe. "In London, at Westminster...when Ron was killed." He watched Harry as the news sunk in.  
  
"He was there," Harry repeated. "And he's never been brought to justice?!"  
  
Sirius smiled sadly. "We don't put wizards into Azkaban for sightseeing on a holiday."  
  
"That's what he said he was doing?" Harry fumed. "It's a lie! Draco despises everything to do with the Muggle world. There's no way in hell he'd spend his holiday in that part of London!"  
  
"I know that and you know that. But at the time, it was simply a coincidence. Most wizards know absolutely nothing about Muggles and again, they don't look deeper when such Muggle things as scaffolding apparently fail. They expect it; it's not magical, after all."  
  
Harry crossed his arms over his chest. "I'm starting to wonder if he doesn't have the Aurors on his payroll."   
  
"You may be more right than you think." Sirius withdrew one hand to scratch his temple. "At the time of his death, Ron was heading up a one-man project to investigate Malfoy's involvement in the Dark Arts. He contacted me two days before the accident, to tell me that he'd had a breakthrough. We were supposed to meet the next week so he could bring me up to speed. But, obviously, that never happened."  
  
"And you have no idea what it could have been?"  
  
"None. But if he had any documentation, there's only one person in the world who would know where it is now."  
  
Harry looked up at the high-arched ceiling. "Hermione. It's just too bad that she refuses to tell me anything about Ron's work."  
  
"She's protecting you."  
  
"That's been suggested to me."  
  
Sirius patted his godson's shoulder and winked. "You may have to use a bit of your father's charm to coax it out of her." His tone became serious again. "But if you want to bring Malfoy to justice and perhaps, in the process, solve the mystery here, we need to know what Ron found out...that got him killed."  
  
Harry nodded. "I understand." Clearing his throat, he knocked on the gilded frame of Miss Belle's portrait. She awoke with a start, overly-defined bosom heaving. "Professor Potter...." Her lips curled up. "Sirius Black...it's been a long time since *you've* come knocking at my portrait. The last time, I believe, you and James Potter wanted to see what was under my..." She stopped with calculated precision. "Well, you know."  
  
Sirius squirmed faintly under Harry's inquisitive stare. "We were sixteen," he reminded James' son.   
  
The younger man lifted an eyebrow. "Belladonna," he spoke the password. Miss Belle blew the men a kiss and the portrait door opened. "Goodnight, Sirius."  
  
His godfather reached out and pulled him into a quick embrace. "You were very missed, Harry. Don't go off wandering again."  
  
"I won't," Harry promised. "I have too much to protect here."  
  
****  
  
In the second week of December, the children began to return to Hogwarts. Still battling their memories of Halloween night and braving the possibility of another, most of the fifth, sixth and seventh year students arrived via the Express to begin a light class load.   
  
"They've only come back because the O.W.L.S and N.E.W.T.S. start in the spring," Hermione told Harry over breakfast the day classes started up. "Some parents would rather have their children petrified than have them do poorly on the exams."   
  
Harry slathered jam onto a piece of toast. "At least they've come back. I actually started to miss teaching." He took a big bite and mumbled around it, "Why aren't you eating?"  
  
She glanced down at her bacon and eggs. "I don't know." Pushing her plate away, she leaned forward on her elbows. "Harry, will you do me a favor?"  
  
He swallowed. "Of course."  
  
"After your classes, could you get Harry out and doing something? It's been weeks and he's only been outside once or twice. At first I thought it was just that he was still worried about me, but now I'm starting to get very worried about him."   
  
Harry held his breath as Hermione's knee accidently brushed against him under the table. How could he deny her anything, especially if it meant spending time with his son? "I'll take him down to see Hagrid's Fiji mermaids," he told her. "I'd play...um..." He searched for the word, so hard to do when she shifted and more of her leg came into contact with his. "Um...that game. Balls....on broomstick...?"  
  
"Quidditch," she supplied.  
  
"That's the one. We could play it, except then I'd have to teach him to fly. And he shouldn't know that before...um...before all his future...classmates."  
  
Hermione nodded. "I agree." After a glance at her watch, she stood up. He nearly let out a combined sigh of relief and moan of disappointment when the warmth of her leg left his. "I've got the sixth year Hufflepuffs and Ravenclaws in five minutes. What about you?  
  
Harry fumbled around in his robe's pocket for his new schedule. "Damn. Slytherins. It's too early in the morning for them."  
  
She shook her finger at him. "There are no such things as bad students." The look he gave her made her laugh. "Okay, okay." She started to walk away, but then turned back around. "Will you come over for dinner tonight?"  
  
"Shepherd's pie?" He made a face.  
  
"Yorkshire pudding."  
  
Harry grinned. "I'll be there at six."  
  
****  
  
Christmas was upon them before they even realized it. Despite the decorations inside and the snow outside, Harry didn't stop and acknowledge the holidays until the day the Express departed, carrying most of the students back to their homes. He had been so caught up in his classes, the regular owls to and from Sirius, spending time with little Harry and Hermione, that Christmas caught him off guard.   
  
He needn't have been worried about spending it alone. Hermione's weekly dinner invitation was extended to include Christmas Eve. After several hours of shopping in Hogsmeade, Harry finally fell into the spirit of the holidays.   
  
At seven that evening, he knocked on Hermione's door, loaded down with presents. Little Harry answered, his green eyes nearly bugging out at the sight of the presents. "Are these for us, Professor?" The formal title still bothered Harry, but save for "Mr. Potter", he couldn't think of anything else for his son to call him.  
  
"They're yours if you can take them." The boy eagerly relieved Harry of the bulky armful. Harry shut the door behind him.   
  
Hermione had decorated her apartment to cozy holiday perfection. A cheerful fire did a merry dance upon the hearth, casting a warm glow across the room. He took his usual seat in front of the fireplace while little Harry carefully arranged the new presents under the Christmas tree.  
  
She came out from the kitchen a minute later. "Happy Christmas, Harry," she greeted him.   
  
He gave her a soft smile. "You look beautiful."   
  
Hermione blushed and tucked a wayward lock of hair behind her ear. "Do you two want to eat out here by the fire or at the table like civilized beings?"  
  
"Fire!" their son chose.   
  
Harry lifted his shoulders. "The boy has spoken."  
  
Hermione pursed her lips, but went back into the kitchen to finish dinner preparations.  
  
A hour later, little Harry announced that it was time to open presents. "You don't want to wait until tomorrow?" Hermione asked her son.   
  
"Tonight!! Please, Mum??"   
  
She sighed and gave in. "All right then. But don't complain when you have nothing to open up in the morning."   
  
This didn't seem to worry the boy. "Can I open Professor Potter's first, Mum?" he asked, hopefully.   
  
"Whatever you want, Harry."  
  
The older Harry pointed to a large package. "That one there."   
  
Little Harry ripped the package's paper with great enthusiasm. "Woah!" With a bit of a struggle, he lifted a marble and ivory chess board from inside the box. "Wizard's chess!"  
  
"I've already put the spell on it," Harry said. "I hope you like it."   
  
Hermione reached out to touch the marble crown on top of one Queen's head. "It's gorgeous, Harry." She looked at her son. "What do you say?"  
  
"Thank you, Professor Potter!" Their son stood up and to both of his parents surprise, threw his arms around Harry. "Can we play now?" he asked.  
  
Harry laughed, returning the hug. "Maybe in a bit. First...I want your mother to open her present."  
  
A fresh blush colored her cheeks. "A present for me?"   
  
"The green one," Harry told the boy. Little Harry picked up the package and handed it to his mother.   
  
Hermione fingered the edge of her present's red bow. "It's heavy."  
  
"Are you going to open it, Mum?"  
  
Without further hesitation, Hermione unwrapped Harry's gift. Nestled in the tissue paper was a large, leather bound book. The words "Hogwarts: A Revised History" were embossed in gold across the cover. Hermione looked up at Harry, disbelief in her eyes. "Harry...this book isn't due to come out until summer! How did you manage to..."  
  
"I have my sources," he replied mysteriously. "And besides, you and Ron and I are in this new version so much, it's only right you should have the first copy of it." Harry pulled at his ear, suddenly afraid that what he thought would be the perfect Hermione gift might not be. "Do you like it?"  
  
"Like it?" Her eyes shone. "Harry...I love it." On impulse, she leaned over and kissed his cheek. "Thank you."   
  
Little Harry unknowingly broke the moment. "There's more presents," he kindly reminded them.   
  
Hermione touched her lips briefly before jumping into action. "Right. Harry....you can go ahead and give Professor Potter your present now."  
  
The boy nodded and fished under the tree for a long, rectangular box. It was almost too long for him to handle; he gratefully passed it to Harry. "Here you go, Professor."   
  
"What on earth could this be?" Harry pulled at the paper and lifted the box's lid. A second passed. He lifted his eyes. "Is this...my Firebolt?"  
  
Little Harry nodded gleefully. "Mum helped me fix it up real good for you!"  
  
"Really nice for you," Hermione corrected her son.  
  
"We found it in storage; no one's used it since you, I expect." The boy grinned. "Now you can play Quidditch again!"  
  
Hermione watched her old friend's face carefully. "They're still the best in the world, Harry. France won the International Cup last year on Firebolts."  
  
The first time he had received the broom had been wonderful. The second time was even better. "Thank you, Harry. I appreciate this so much."   
  
Several hours and one forced game of Wizard's Chess later, little Harry was fast asleep against Harry's shoulder. He was reluctant to move; having his son fall asleep on him was one of the many things he had been afraid he'd never get to experience.   
  
Hermione glanced over at them as she cleaned up the living room. "Now that's a nice picture."  
  
"It feels right." Harry's voice was soft.  
  
She looked down at her hands, full of red and green wrapping paper. It was impossible to deny the truth in his statement. The entire night had felt right, as if the three of them together was the way it was always supposed to be. Hermione shivered. But then...what about Ron?  
  
"We should get him into bed," she said, swallowing a thick lump in her throat. "Can you carry him?"  
  
"Of course." Ever so careful to keep from waking him, Harry picked up his son and started for the stairs. Hermione expelled a pent-up breath as soon as he left. She needed a moment to sort through everything she was feeling. Her first instinct was to berate herself. If only she had stuck to her resolve and kept Harry out of their lives...  
  
But then, she thought, it could just all be his fault for coming back.   
  
When the Christmas mess was cleaned up and the fire near embers and he still wasn't back, Hermione climbed up the stairs. "Harry?" The door to her son's room was open; as she walked in, she smiled to see him lying on his bed, tucked up to his chin in the quilt her mother had sewn for him.   
  
Harry sat at the boy's desk, watching his son sleep. He addressed her as he felt her presence in the room. "I've missed so much of his life...and I can't ever get that time back."   
  
Her heart went out to him, despite the rational thought that he had no one to blame for that but himself. She walked to him and gently touched his shoulder. "There's plenty more times to be had."   
  
There was a moment of pensive silence. "Are you ever sorry? Do you ever regret that night?"  
  
"No." It was the easiest question to answer, despite its sudden appearance. "Never."   
  
He looked up at her. "Neither do I."  
  
Only a moment passed, but for Harry and Hermione, it might as well have been years. The first move was hers; she leaned down and pressed her lips to his in a smoldering kiss. After allowing himself a second to get past the shock, Harry slowly stood up as not to break the embrace. Her arms slid around his neck, adjusting to the extra height he had gained during his ten year absence. Damn him. That first kiss on Halloween hadn't adequately reminded her. He was still an amazing kisser.   
  
Harry pulled back first. He could tell where the kiss was leading. It both excited and worried him. "Hermione...maybe we should take things...slowly."  
  
"We have been," she reminded him.   
  
"Yes, but..."  
  
She took his hand. "Come on." Harry allowed her lead him out of their son's bedroom. She shut the door and turned around to face him again. "If you don't want to go any further, I'll understand. But I will be disappointed."  
  
Harry's confused expression was adorable. "When I came back, my intention was not to get you into bed again."  
  
"I know." She kissed him softly. "That's why it's going to happen."   
  
He shook his head, confusion dissipating. His fingers combed through her loose hair. "I thought about this almost every night I was gone. You were with me during a snowstorm in Iceland...a sandstorm in Egypt...a bull-run in Spain." His hands cupped her cheeks. "If you'll have me, I will do everything I can to make up for all those times I wasn't here."   
  
Hermione's hands covered his on either side of her face. "I'll have you," she whispered. "I love you." Rather than wait for him to say it...or be crushed if he didn't...Hermione kissed him once again, this time pulling him towards her bedroom.   
  
****  
  
Much later, Hermione found herself back in the most comfortable place in the entire world. Harry's arms. She lazily drew the sheets up around her breasts and angled her head back to look at him. "Harry?"  
  
"Hmm?" His eyes were closed, a content smile on his pleasantly perfect face.  
  
"If I fall asleep, do you promise to still be here when I wake up?"   
  
He chuckled. "Don't even worry about it. I don't think I could move right now if I tried."  
  
"Well...don't try." She resettled her cheek against his chest. The arm around her bare shoulders tightened, indicating his response. Hermione closed her eyes; she could feel his heart, steadily pounding just under her ear. It lulled her into a peaceful doze.   
  
Her sleep would not last long. The creak of the slightly rusted hinges on her bedroom door woke her what seemed like only minutes later. She squinted in the dark until a shaft of light hit the bed.   
  
Beside her, Harry awoke. "What's going on?" He sat up, rubbing his eyes.   
  
Their son stood in the doorway, the light from the hall framing his small body. As Harry adjusted to the mixture of lightness and darkness, he could see the boy's dull stare focused directly on his mother's bed. There was shock, disbelief and worst of all, horror in the deep green centers of little Harry's eyes.   
  
Hermione covered her mouth with her hand. "Oh, no."   
  
Harry reached for his glasses. "Harry..." he said, feeling around on the night stand. "Harry...we can explain..."  
  
The boy didn't wait for an explanation. Turning on his heel, he ran back to his room, slamming the heavy oak door behind him.   
  
****  
  
To Be Continued 


	8. Disillusionment Charm

Disclaimer: The Harry Potter world and its characters do not belong to me, but to the great JK Rowling, whose next book is even more overdue than this chapter.  
  
Author's Notes: My extreme apologies for the lateness of this chapter. It's been about four months, I guess, maybe a little more. It was an insane spring semester and that's my excuse;) But you all have been fabulous with your emails and IM's. I wish I could have replied to every single one of them, but they all touched me and were greatly appreciated. I hope you're still interested in the story. Enjoy and I promise the next chapter won't be so long in coming!  
  
Dedication: To you all for your kind words.  
  
****  
  
An Organ of Fire  
by Kristen Elizabeth  
  
****  
  
"You give a guy a handjob during Harry Potter and suddenly he wants to marry you." -ER  
  
****  
  
Harry's fingers finally found his glasses, but it was too late. "Bloody hell," he muttered, pushing them onto the bridge of his nose. He glanced at Hermione. Her hand was still clamped over her mouth; her slender frame shook ever so slightly. He put his arm around her; she didn't protest. Rather, she had no reaction whatsoever. "Hermione..."  
  
"This is horrible...." Her hand trembled as she lowered it back to the sheet covering her chest. "Oh god...this wasn't supposed to happen."  
  
"It's going to be all right," Harry tried to assure her. "He's a mature child...if we talk to him, explain things to him..."  
  
Hermione closed her eyes. "I can't believe this happened."  
  
Harry blinked. It suddenly occurred to him that they might not be talking about the same thing. "We are his parents, Hermione."  
  
"Not to his knowledge!" She shrugged off his arm. "He didn't just see his mother and father in bed, Harry. He saw his mother and Professor Potter in bed. And that's something entirely different!"  
  
There was a long pause. "Maybe it's a good thing," Harry said quietly. "Maybe it's time that I'm not just 'Professor Potter' to him."  
  
"What are you suggesting, Harry?"  
  
"I think you know exactly what I'm suggesting." She turned her head to stare at him. "Don't look at me that way, Hermione. This is something to which I've given a lot of thought." Harry pushed off the covers and reached for his clothes. "I understand that Ron was a wonderful father to our son. But he is *ours*. We know it...Dumbledore and Hagrid and Sirius know it." He fastened his pants and looked back at her. "I want *everyone* to know it. Including Harry."  
  
Hermione slowly shook her head. "How can you be so very selfish?"  
  
"Selfish?!" Harry's eyes sparked with emerald fury. "He's my son, Hermione! If I had known about him, I never would have left...or I would have come home years ago."  
  
"So, now you're blaming me for keeping him from you?" Her own eyes narrowed.  
  
Harry plunged his fingers into his tousled hair. "No, that's not what I'm..." After a calming breath, he continued. "I'm not blaming you for mistakes I made. But I will blame you if you don't give me the opportunity to correct them."  
  
"And you think that if you go to him and tell him, 'it's okay that you saw me in bed with your mother...I am your father after all'....that everything is going to automatically be all right?"   
  
He blinked. "I didn't say that."  
  
Hermione threw off the rest of the blankets and grabbed her robe from its place on one bed post. She shoved her arms into the terrycloth. "You're just going to tell him, rip apart every basic belief he's ever had, tear to pieces the memory of the only father he's ever known...and then expect him to start calling you 'Daddy'?"  
  
"No...I don't..."  
  
"Then what is your master plan, Harry?!"  
  
"I don't have one!" he yelled. "I'm just tired of having to hide how I feel about you and how I feel about my son! Is that so wrong? I mean, is it so terrible of me to think of the three of us being an actual family?"  
  
A bit of Hermione's anger faded. "Harry...would you really want that?"  
  
Her question made him take a literal step back. "How can you even ask that? All I've wanted my entire life was a family of my own." He swallowed. "We had one once. Ron, myself and you. Remember?"  
  
"Oh, I remember. The problem is...I also remember how you tore that family apart by leaving without a word." She stared at him from across the bed. The rumpled covers stretched like miles between them. "And if you think I'm about to let you get in a position to do that again, this time to me and my son...you're very mistaken."  
  
Harry bare shoulders slumped. "You said that you forgave me for that. And you said we could mend and move past it. You might love me...but you're still so hurt, Hermione. Why haven't you let me know before now? Why did you pretend everything was all right?" He gestured to the bed. "And why do this tonight?"  
  
She was a long time in replying. "I had a recurring dream when I was pregnant with Harry. It always started off the same. You came back, full of apologies, asking for my forgiveness and to be a part of my life again." She stopped.  
  
"And then what happened?"  
  
Hermione folded her arms across her robe. "It was always different. Sometimes, I'd walk away. Or I'd wake up before I could even reply." A small smile played on her lips. "Other times, I'd forgive you and take you back." The smile fell. "And then you'd leave again."  
  
"Hermione..."  
  
She held up a hand. "I thought the dreams would stop after Harry was born, but they didn't. I finally told Ron about them...and he said that maybe if I *didn't* forgive you in the dream, if I got mad, yelled, told you where you could stick your apologies, that they would go away. Well...it didn't happen and the dreams continued." Hermione licked her lips. "Until one night. The dream started as usual and when it came to the part where you asked me to forgive you....I punched you."   
  
Harry bit his cheek to keep from smiling. "How very therapeutic."  
  
"I felt awful!" she countered. "But then...I didn't. And I suddenly felt much better than I had in months." Hermione looked away from Harry's eyes. "When I woke up, I realized I was in Ron's arms. It was the first night we had spent together."   
  
"I see," Harry replied, stiffly.   
  
"I never had the dream again." Hermione finally looked back at him. "I forgave you a very long time ago, Harry. But yes...I am still terribly mad at you. It just seemed...irrelevant. And I thought it would pass...especially if we made love."  
  
He nodded as he slowly walked around the bed to her side. "Then, there's only one thing to be done."   
  
She frowned. "What's that?"  
  
"You're going to have to punch me."  
  
Hermione blinked twice. "Have you gone insane?"  
  
Harry shook his head. "I'm quite sane, I assure you. But if one punch is going to make you feel better, I'll give you two." He tapped his cheek. "Come on."  
  
"Harry, this is not the time for macho antics!" She propped her hands up on her hips. "I am not going to hit you."  
  
"If you love me...if you love our son...and if you want us to be a family, you're going to have to do it," he told her.   
  
She pursed her lips. "I refuse to punch you, Harry Potter."  
  
"But you want to, right?"  
  
"Of course I don't want..."  
  
Harry reached for her hand, balling up her fingers in his palm. "Do it. If it's what you need, do it. There is a very confused boy out there who really needs some explanations."  
  
Hermione closed her eyes for a long minute. "I can't believe I'm going to do this..." she muttered to herself. Harry smiled and braced himself. Hermione drew her arm back and swung, landing a direct blow to Harry's cheek bone.  
  
His eye felt as though it were going to pop out of its socket. After his head had snapped nearly halfway around his body, he doubled over and grabbed the side of his head. "Ow."  
  
"Oh god! I'm so sorry, Harry!!" Hermione flexed her fingers, a look of sheer panic on her face. She reached for him. "Are you all right?? I didn't mean to do it so hard!!"  
  
Harry rubbed his numb cheek. "I'm all right." Cracking his jaw, he stood up straight. "Do you feel better?"  
  
She bit her lip, worried. "A little."  
  
He nodded. "Good. Now..." Smiling hurt, so he simply nodded again. "Let's go have a talk with our son."   
  
"You're going to tell him no matter what I want, aren't you?"   
  
His cheek was now beginning to throb. "I want you to tell him. And I want you to do it because you want this family as much as I do."   
  
Hermione reached for his cheek, not surprised when he flinched. "I understand." After a pause, she started for the door. "Here we go."   
  
"Yeah..." Harry winced as she left the room. "Ow..."  
  
****  
  
They found little Harry in his room, curled up on his bed with a picture of Ron. He didn't move when he heard them enter the room and failed to acknowledge them for a long time after Hermione began to speak.   
  
"Harry," she said softly. "We really need to talk." After a long pause without any response, she sat on the edge of their son's bed. "Harry...can you please turn over and look at me?"  
  
"No," he replied sharply.   
  
The older Harry cleared his throat. "We know that you're upset with us. But if you could just..."  
  
"No!!" the boy screamed. "Go away!! I want to be left alone!"  
  
"Harry, please..." Hermione's eyes flooded with tears. "What you saw....I mean to say, you shouldn't have had to see...." She took a breath and reached out to him. "You're too young to understand this, but..."  
  
Little Harry yanked his pillow out from under his cheek and clamped it down over his head. Hermione's hands shook; she drew them back towards her chest before they could touch the boy's back. Harry cleared his throat, unable to bear the hurt on Hermione's face when she looked up at him, expectantly.   
  
"Harry," he began. "I thought you were more mature than this."   
  
The boy hiccuped underneath his pillow. "I don't want to talk to you."  
  
"You don't really get a choice." Harry took a breath and walked around to the other side of the bed. "You're almost eleven and this is really quite childish, hiding under the covers....closing up your ears to what you don't want to hear."   
  
Hermione bit her lip. "Harry, are you sure this is..."  
  
The older Harry pressed on. "You have every right to be mad. In fact, it's all right, even if you want to yell at us. Your mother and I..." He hesitated. "Just come out from under there, so we can all talk this..."  
  
Little Harry threw off his pillow and shot up into a sitting position, his face distorted with tears and anger. "You can't tell me what to do! You're not my father!!"  
  
There was a long moment of silence. Harry opened his mouth to continue, but found it quite unnecessary, as Hermione beat him to it. "Actually, Harry....he is." Her voice was gentle as she dropped the heavy news.  
  
The boy blinked and then sniffed dramatically. "My father is dead."  
  
Hermione shook her head. "I'm so sorry, Harry. I never meant for you to find out....certainly not like this." She drew in a brave breath. "You probably won't understand any of this until you're older. But you have a right to know. At any age."  
  
"My father is dead," he repeated, although the certainty that had been present in his first affirmation had faded.   
  
"Harry." The elder one joined them in sitting on the bed. "You once told me that we had the same eyes." His son stared back at him. After a pause, Harry continued. "Do you think your mother would lie to you about this?"  
  
Fresh tears appeared in the corners of little Harry's eyes. "Mum..." He glanced at Hermione. "What about Dad? Don't you love him anymore?"  
  
"Oh, Harry..." Hermione reached for her son again and this time he let her enfold his hands in hers. "Of course I still do. No matter what happens, I will always love Ron. We both loved him, didn't we? And he loved you so much. I can't even tell you how proud you made him." She bit her lip to keep it from trembling. "But Harry is right. I wouldn't lie to you about this."   
  
"But you did. All my life." He rubbed his forearm across his eyes. "Why?"  
  
"It's a very long story, Harry." Hermione lip was no longer wobbling, but her hands had started to shake. This was the very conversation she had dreaded for ten years. And so far, it wasn't going well. "Professor Potter...Harry...your real father...we fell in love a long time ago. But...he had to go away. And after he did, you were born." She took one hand away from the boy's to run her fingers through his rusty hair. "The best thing that's ever happened to me." Hermione pulled her hand back. "Ron was there the day you were born and he loved you as soon as he saw you. Because he loved me too, we got married."  
  
The boy looked back at his namesake. "Why did you leave?"  
  
Harry felt Hermione's gaze boring into him as well as his son's. "I wish I could tell you, Harry. The truth is....I've regretted it ever since."   
  
Little Harry pressed further. "Didn't you want me?"  
  
"I didn't know you were going to be coming," Harry replied. "If I had known..." He stopped to look down at his hands. "When I understand it all, I'll try to explain it to you. But what I think you need to know right now is that I am your father. And that Ron will always be a part of you. I would never try to take his..."  
  
"Yes, you are!!" The child's anger surfaced again. "I don't have to call you my father! I could never do that to Dad. I hate you!"  
  
"Harry!" Hermione squeezed his hand. "You don't mean that, so don't say it."   
  
"I do mean it!" He jerked his hands away from his mother. "Leave me alone!! I want to be alone!!"   
  
The older Harry placed a comforting hand on Hermione's shoulder. "Come on. Let's give him some space."   
  
Reluctantly, Hermione stood, her eyes still fixed on her son. He had curled back up around Ron's picture, turning his face away from his parents. With a final look at the boy, Hermione allowed Harry to lead her out of the room. He gently shut the door, but not before they both caught the faint sounds of choked sobs. It was all Hermione could to do to keep from running back in to comfort him.   
  
"Harry," she whispered. "What have we done?"  
  
"The only thing we could do, Hermione." Harry cupped her face in his hands. "If we had let more time go by before we told him the truth, he would have only resented us more. And maybe we'd have never gotten him back."  
  
"He's so angry."  
  
Harry brushed his thumb over her cheek, wiping away a stray tear. "He'll come around, once the shock wears off. "Give him some time. I'm not going anywhere; are you?"  
  
A smile tugged at the corners of her mouth. "No, I'm not." His lips pressed against her forehead. "You're really not going to leave again?"  
  
"I'm really not." He moved his next kiss down to her lips. "I love you, Hermione." Harry drew back. "I think I'll just head back to my place now, all right?"  
  
Hermione sighed. "One of these times I'm going to get you to stay a full night with me."   
  
"One of these times..." Harry gave her another kiss. "I won't hesitate to take you up on that."   
  
****  
  
The days between Christmas and New Year's passed slowly for Harry. He saw Hermione only a handful of times around the snowy grounds. On those few instances, she would give him a smile, but the circumstances prevented either of them from doing anything more. She and little Harry were taking all of their meals in their rooms; Harry could only hope the boy wasn't causing Hermione any more pain. But there was little he could do to find out, much less to help.   
  
On the first day of the new year, Harry had settled himself in front of a roaring fire in his apartments, working on restoring his Firebolt to the condition in which he had left it ten years earlier. He had many regrets, but not taking his prized possession with him on his travels was not one of them. It would not have held up well through all his trials and tribulations.   
  
He was applying a layer of Patrick Paddy's Patented Polish to the handle when there was a knock on his door. Wiping his hands on a rag, Harry went to answer it.   
  
The man who had given him the boom stood on the other side of the door. Harry smiled. "Sirius. Happy New Year."  
  
"The new year...." Sirius walked past his godson and into the room. "It's already promising to be a bloody interesting one."  
  
Harry closed the door, a frown on his face. "What do you mean?"  
  
Sirius drew his hands out of his black robes and warmed them over the fire. "Damn drafty castle," he muttered. After a moment, he glanced back at the younger man. "I've just come in from London. From the Ministry of Magic. Auror's headquarters."  
  
"Ron's office." Harry walked towards the fireplace.  
  
His godfather nodded. "I think I know, Harry. I think I know what Ron found out. What he died for."   
  
"What was it, Sirius?"  
  
"It's Malfoy, Harry. Just like you suspected." Sirius tucked his hands back against his chest.   
  
"He killed Ron." Harry's eyes closed as his fist balled up. "Why? What did Ron find out about him?"  
  
Taking a seat on the couch, Sirius looked up at his godson. "What does your instinct tell you?"  
  
"Voldemort." The word arrived on Harry's tongue without hesitation. "Malfoy is working with Voldemort. He *has* risen! I knew it! I felt it..."  
  
"No, Harry." Sirius sighed. "It's not as simple as that."  
  
"But what about..."  
  
"Malfoy isn't trying to bring Voldemort back," Sirius interrupted. "He's trying to take his place."  
  
Harry blinked. "Say that again?"  
  
"You heard me the first time." The older man stood up again. "And if everything in Ron's files is correct, he's not just a little wizard trying to fill shoes that are too big for him, Harry. He has power. Real power. Dark power." Sirius shook his head. "He'll do anything to twist the world to his liking. Just like Voldemort did. He's already built up a following. And killed! It's only a matter of time, Harry."  
  
A question Harry wasn't sure he wanted answered spilled out of his mouth. "Before what?"  
  
The moment of silence that followed was so heavy that neither man seemed to breathe for its duration. "Before he comes after you."   
  
****  
  
To Be Continued 


	9. Incendio Spell

Disclaimer: Not mine, nor do I claim ownership over much besides the measley little plot;)   
  
Authors Notes: I'm on a roll again, baby! At least on this story. Thanks again for all the great words of support. Yall still like it....you really still like it!!  
  
Dedication: To Riley. Both of them.   
  
****  
  
An Organ of Fire  
by Kristen Elizabeth  
  
****  
  
"I just don't know what to do." Harry lifted his head from the safe cradle of his hands and looked across the table. "I need your help. You always know what to do. You're better at this sort of thing than me."  
  
"Harry." Hermione scooped up a bite of porridge and gave him a look. "You're chaperoning a group of students in Hogsmeade, not taking a three-scroll exam. You're going to be fine."  
  
Ignoring his own breakfast, Harry stared at the wide window cut into the stone of the Great Hall. It was snowing again; a nice January storm that, sadly, wasn't severe enough to cancel the scheduled outing. "I just..." He stopped.   
  
She lowered the spoonful before it could reach her lips. His gaze had become blank; it sent a little chill down her spine. "You just...what, Harry?"   
  
He refocused and met her worried eyes. Not for the first time, he regretted not sharing the new information Sirius had discovered about Ron's death with her. But how could he tell her that her worst fears had been confirmed? That her husband had been murdered by the same hand that had orchestrated the worst recorded attack on Hogwarts? That the same hand was now mostly likely after him...and that he feared anyone around him, including innocent bystanders, might be hurt when it all came to a head?   
  
Harry attempted a smile. "I just wish you would come, too. I could use a partner in keeping an eye on the Slytherins."  
  
Hermione ate the cold bite of her breakfast before replying, "You know I need to stay here with Harry."   
  
"How is he?"   
  
The question stabbed at Hermione. Harry shouldn't have to ask after their son as though they lived miles apart. "He's...he's speaking to me again." She chuckled half-heartedly. "That's something, isn't it?"  
  
Harry reached across the table and folded his hand around hers. "'Mione."  
  
"It's all right." She threaded her fingers through his for a brief moment. "He just needs more time." There was a pause. "He's been to see Hagrid."  
  
"What did he want to ask Hagrid about?"  
  
Hermione pulled her hand back towards her chest. "I'm not sure. Hagrid said he made a promise not to tell me. But he did say..." She sniffed delicately. "...that Harry is very confused."   
  
"I have to believe that with enough time, he'll be able to come to you for answers to his questions," Harry said, his voice soothing.   
  
"Or to you."  
  
He shook his head. "We'll have to see about that." Harry stood up from the table and leaned across the table to drop a kiss on the top of her head. "Wish me luck."  
  
****  
  
When he was seventeen years old, there was nothing Harry enjoyed more than a warm butterbeer at the Three Broomsticks with his two best friends on a cold outing to Hogsmeade. Now, at twenty-eight, as he accepted his mug from the waitress, and surveyed the pub, the site of so many happy moments past, all he could do was remember.   
  
At the tables around him, groups of Hogwarts students laughed and drank, nibbled on Honeydukes candies, completely content and innocent. Harry took a sip of his drink. His tongue ached with the familiarity of the butterbeer's flavor. All he had to do, he figured, was close his eyes and he'd be seventeen again. Hermione would be on his right side, poring over her latest book purchase. Ron, on his left, would have given up the the struggle to save his candies for a later time.  
  
Seventeen. Before graduation. Before Voldemort's final attempt on his life. Before his first night with Hermione. Before his departure. When life was made better by a simple drink with his friends and as far as any of them knew, it always would be.  
  
Suddenly, the nostalgia was too much for him. Harry set his mug aside, threw down a few sickles to cover his tab and pulled on his thick, winter robe. A few of the students called out to him as he left the pub, but he only gave them a nod of recognition. The walls were closing in on him, reminding him of the past he could never get back and a future that was all too uncertain.  
  
The cold air outside was exactly what Harry needed to clear his head. He glanced up at the sky; it was a light grey color, indicating an approaching snow flurry. He sighed to himself. Hopefully, it would spend itself before it was time to take the students back to the castle.   
  
A strong, cold wind blew over him; he pulled the hood of his robe up over his messy locks. An impending storm. Just like the current status of his entire life. Something coming, over which he would have little to no control until it decided to hit. It was a horrifically unsettling thought.   
  
Having had no control over his life as a child, Harry despised helplessness. His ability to do magic usually ensured that he never fell victim to it. But now, he felt stripped down to his very bones. Worse than when he stood in an empty field, bleeding, with only the energy left to raise his wand to send Voldemort into oblivion, a danger challenged him. Threatened those he loved. Had killed his best friend in the world. And even if it took the last breath from his body, Harry Potter would stop it.   
  
Down the street, he could just make out the dark shape of the Shrieking Shack. Despite the truth about its origins that had been revealed nearly fifteen years earlier, it was still abandoned, still the centerpiece of Hogwarts legend and still avoided by most. Harry, however, smiled at the twisted building. So much of his father was in the Shack. So much good in a place considered to be so frightening.   
  
His thoughts drifted to Sirius, another key figure in the history of the Shack. An owl had arrived from London the day before from his godfather. There wasn't much new in the investigation against Draco Malfoy, mostly because Sirius was the only investigator. The decision to keep the Aurors out of the way had been Harry's. They had done nothing when Ron had needed their protection; as far as he was concerned, they were useless.  
  
Harry wriggled his fingers into the warm pockets of his robes and tore his stare away from the mangled structure. As he glanced down the other end of the street, in the general direction of the train station, he spotted a dark figure, framed against the lights from the store windows. Harry's eyes narrowed as he tried to focus on the person, but before he could even begin to guess who it was, it started moving towards him.   
  
A cape billowed around the strangers feet, brushing over the snow that littered the ground. Harry instinctively took a small step back. As the figure came even closer, it began to speak from under the heavy folds of the cape that blacked out its face, preventing immediate identification.   
  
"Well, now." The cloaked man stopped a few yards away. "I don't think I've ever seen you without one of your groupies, Potter."  
  
Harry didn't need to see the man's face. His nasal tone had always given Draco Malfoy away. The reference to Ron and Hermione from the man who had and was continuing to destroy his friends enraged Harry, but he managed to keep his voice low and steady. "I see you've given yours the night off, too." A moment of silence froze in the air between them. "I have very little to say to you, Malfoy, but none of it's good."  
  
Draco reached up to push back his hood, giving Harry his first glimpse in ten years of the wizard playing Dark Lord. The sickly, pale teenager Harry remembered had filled out to fit the face of a cold, deadly man. His eyes still glinted pacific blue, although the cowardice Harry had always seen just under the surface of his stare was gone, replaced by a cool calculation that caught him off guard. The hairs on the back of Harry's neck rose.   
  
"No catching up, Potter? I suppose, then, you don't care to see pictures of my son."   
  
Harry folded his arms underneath his robes. "I'll pass, especially if he looks anything like you."  
  
The man in question shook a gloved finger. "Pansy would be very upset with you...if she were still alive."  
  
"Did you kill her, too?"  
  
Draco chuckled, and waved his hand, dismissively. "I hardly think she's the issue here."  
  
Harry conceded, but not without the promise of further investigation. Pansy Parkinson's possible murder was not foremost on his mind. "No. The issue is Ron."  
  
"Weasley." Draco paused, as if he were waiting for Harry to make an accusation. When it didn't come, he smiled again, bearing pearly teeth. "Is that why you've graced us all with your presence again, Potter?  
  
"You were there," was Harry's simple reply.   
  
"Yes. And a horrible accident it was. But what can you expect from something built by Muggles?"   
  
"I think we both know it was no accident. It's only a matter of time before everyone else knows it, too."  
  
Draco took a step forward. "If you're accusing me of something, you should come right out and say it."   
  
"I don't need to," Harry shot back. "It's insulting to Ron that no one has figured it out until now. And you won't get away with it."  
  
"You've been away too long, Potter. You've forgotten who I am. Who my father was."   
  
Harry shook his head. "Still falling back on your father's wealth, I see. It's good that some things never change."   
  
If the comment bothered him, he did an amazing job covering it up. "And some things change too much for certain people to handle." Harry frowned as he continued. "Not only did she pop out his kid, she actually married Weasley! While you were gone...they got on just fine without you. In fact...we all got along just fine without the great Harry Potter. The world still revolved." His grin was evil. "That just eats at you, doesn't it, Potter?"   
  
He took a breath of pure relief. Draco didn't know the truth about little Harry's parentage. That was perfectly fine with him; Malfoy's ignorance made his son safer. "Hermione's happiness has always been my happiness."   
  
"Your soft spot for the Mudbloods just might get you into trouble someday soon," Draco warned. With swift motions, he drew his wand out from the folds of his cloak. Purely on instinct, Harry whipped out his own wand. "Smartly done, Potter. I was worried you would be out of practice." Draco replaced his wand; Harry kept his out. "Though...the next time we meet, you'll have to be much quicker."   
  
"The next time we meet things will definitely be different," Harry agreed. "Until then, keep your minions away from my school."  
  
Draco pulled his hood up around his face. "You forget. It was my school, too. I'll be seeing you soon, Potter." Without another word, he apparated out, disappearing from the snowy street. Harry watched the spot where he had stood for a long time afterwards, replaying the conversation and the new information he had garnered from it, over and over in his mind. The next thing he was aware of was a small hand on his arm. Blinking, he raised his wand.  
  
"Professor Potter!!" The very startled sixth year student who had approached him took a great step back.  
  
Harry recognized her as Jasmine Johnson, one of the girls who lingered in his classroom long after class was over for reasons that were well beyond him. "Miss Johnson...I'm sorry." He put his wand away.   
  
Jasmine smiled nervously. "I didn't mean to bother you, Professor. It's just that the snow is picking up and we're all ready to go."   
  
For the first time, he noticed the storm that had threatened to blow in had lived up to its promise. His shoulders were covered in snow and his hair was wet with it. "Yes. Of course. Umm...let's round up everyone and head back to the castle."   
  
The girl nodded and backed away. The Defense teacher was gorgeous, but her friends were right. He did live up to the title they had recently given him. "Our absent-minded professor."   
  
****  
  
When Hermione knocked on his door, well after most of the castle had retired for the night, Harry was just finished with packing a travel bag, something that caught Hermione's immediate attention and fury.  
  
"'Mione...it's not what you..." he began, picking up on the stricken look in her eyes.  
  
"You're leaving," she cut him off. Her voice was surprisingly flat, given her physical reactions.   
  
Harry reached for her. "Only for a few days. Dumbledore's arranged to have someone teach my classes. I'm staying with Sirius in London to do some...um....research."  
  
Hermione let him gently knead her shoulders. "I thought you were going to break your promise."  
  
"Never." He leaned in for a kiss. Her lips were intoxicating. Pulling back, he gave her the brightest smile he could muster. "I'll be back next week. And maybe..." Harry took her hand, playing with the soft flesh over her knuckles. "We can spend some time together?"  
  
A faint blush spread on her cheeks. "I bet Hagrid would agree to let Harry spend the night in the hut." She cleared her throat suddenly, and frowned at him. "Just what kind of research are you going to be doing in London?"  
  
Harry would have given away his Firebolt in that moment to be able to tell her the truth. But when it came down to the moment of his answer, he simply could not worry her. She had enough on her mind. And Malfoy had hurt her so much already. She deserved answers, but Harry wanted to have them in his grasp before he made any promises. "We're...looking into Knockturn Alley. He hasn't had much luck finding the spell that was worked on Halloween, so I'm offering up my Invisibility Cloak." It was a good thing he had packed it; to prove himself, Harry pulled it from his bag.  
  
"Oh." Hermione smiled and reached out to touch the cloak. "I'll miss you, Harry."  
  
"I'll be back as soon as I can," he assured her. "Hermione...while I'm gone..." He stopped suddenly.   
  
"Harry?" She searched his eyes. "What's the matter?"  
  
Harry shook his head. "Nothing. It's just that every time I see you, I can't believe how much I almost lost."  
  
Hermione ignored a tear that slipped down her cheek. "Sooner or later, Harry, you're going to have to forgive yourself."   
  
He lowered his gaze. If he didn't finish the sentence he had started and Malfoy got to her as a result, he would never be able to. "Hermione, until I get back from London, I'd like you stay in the castle. Don't walk about the grounds at night, keep away from Hogsmeade. I know it sounds mad, but please just do this for me."  
  
"All right," she replied a moment later. "I could never say 'no' to you, Harry."  
  
Harry kissed her again, a slow, deep affair that left him with little breath. It took all of his willpower to pull away from her and pick up his bag. He walked towards the door, but when he had reached it, he turned back around. "You know...I traveled around the entire world. But you're still the most beautiful person I've ever met."   
  
A long time after he left for Hogsmeade, Hermione let herself back into her own flat. After turning off the lights and carefully extinguishing the fire, she started up the stairs. Little Harry's door was closed and locked. Too tired for a confrontation, Hermione went straight for her bedroom. Minutes later, she curled up on her bed wearing only one of Harry's sweaters, oversized on her, that she had borrowed from his drawer. His scent lured her into the sweetest sleep.  
  
****  
  
Harry apparated into Diagon Alley well after most of its patrons had returned home for the evening. He was to meet Sirius at the Leaky Cauldron as soon as he appeared, ten sharp. The first order of business, he had decided after his encounter with Malfoy, was to investigate Pansy Parkinson's death. If he could find no evidence to support a murder charge for Ron, perhaps he could for the mother of Malfoy's child.  
  
There were only a few lingering customers in the pub when Harry entered. Most of them, including the barkeep, looked up when he entered, but soon returned to their drinks after confirming that it was, indeed, Harry Potter.   
  
He took a seat at one of the tables close to the fire and waited.  
  
After twenty minutes, he became impatient. After thirty, annoyance crept in. But when forty-five minutes had passed and Sirius still had not shown, Harry became worried. Very worried.   
  
"Excuse me," he called out to the barkeep who was wiping down a table only a few feet from him. "Has a middle-aged man with black hair been in here tonight?"  
  
"Can't say as one has," the man replied.  
  
Harry nodded, his worry mounting. "Well then, have you seen a big, black dog lurking around?"   
  
The older wizard stood up straight. "Come to think of it...seems to me I heard something 'bout a dog like that?"  
  
"What about it?"  
  
"Greenbaum over at the Owlery's been complainin' about a dog scarin' his owls. I heard someone finally got him just today."  
  
"Got him?!" Harry shot to his feet. "What do you mean by that?"  
  
The man shrugged. "Some kind of spell, I expect. Funny thing is, Greenbaum said that when he went to find the dog's body, it were gone."  
  
"Gone," Harry repeated. His ran his fingers through his hair, a million horrible scenarios playing in his head, none of them ending well. "Gone..."  
  
"He weren't your pet, were he?" the barkeep asked.   
  
"No. Not my pet." Harry started for the door. "Just my godfather."   
  
****  
  
To Be Continued 


	10. Lumio

Disclaimer: Harry Potter and characters belong to JK Rowling, who takes even longer than I do to put out parts of her stories;) But she's worth waiting for.   
  
Author's Notes: Sorry if this chapter is a bit short. I hope to have more soon, since the story is progressing along nicely, thanks to everyone's support!!  
  
****  
  
An Organ of Fire  
by Kristen Elizabeth  
  
****   
  
In Magical Britain, there weren't too many places where a wounded Animagus might have been taken to recover. Truthfully, the only place Harry could think to begin his search for Sirius was the Gryffindor Infirmary, located on the outskirts of London. He remembered that Seamus Finnegan had been taken there only a few days before the start of their sixth year at Hogwarts, when he mixed dragon's tears and wormwood at the Apothecary in Diagon Alley and had nearly spent the rest of his life with two noses.  
  
Harry apparated into the Infirmary and approached the rather bored-looking witch at the front desk. "Excuse me...I need some information on a patient who might have been brought in here within the past few days."  
  
The receptionist snapped her gum and flipped a page of her *Witch Weekly*. "Name?"  
  
"Um...Black. Sirius Black."  
  
If the nurse recognized the infamous name, she didn't react to it. "What would he have been brought in for?" She turned another page; she had yet to even look at Harry.   
  
"I'm not exactly sure." Harry pulled his robes tighter around himself. "He might not have been in human form."  
  
"Animagus?"   
  
"Yes. A dog. A big, black one. It's imperative that I..."  
  
The nurse sighed, still bored. "There's been no registered Animagi brought in here for at least four months, Mr..." She trailed off.  
  
"Potter," Harry filled in. Suddenly, the nurse's eyes lifted to give him an interested look. "And thanks for all your help."   
  
Back on the street, Harry cursed to himself. Snow had sprung up, dusting London a fluffy white color. "Sirius..." If no one had rescued Sirius in either human or dog form, then the only logical conclusion was that Malfoy had gotten to him first and was holding him somewhere.   
  
Or had already killed him.  
  
The last thought stabbed Harry through the heart. Losing Sirius would be like losing his parents again, only he would be able to remember it clearly. It was something he could not let happen.   
  
He found himself walking back into London and had gone a good six miles before he realized what he was doing. It was well past midnight; only a few Muggle cars sped past him, sending an occasional spray of melted snow up to cover his woolen robes. He ignored them. All he wanted was to get back to Diagon Alley, rent a room at the Leaky Cauldron and sleep. In the morning, he would continue the search for his godfather.   
  
Arriving back at his starting point, Harry approached the Leaky Cauldron's barkeep. "Tell me you have a room, please."  
  
The man smiled. "Already been set up fer ya, Mr. Potter. I didn' hardly recognize yer, yer've grown up so much." He handed Harry a large, rusted key from under the counter. "Second on the left."  
  
Harry nodded. "Thank you."   
  
"Oh, Mr. Potter!" Harry glanced back at the barkeep; the older man winked. "Have a good night, sir. A very good night."  
  
"Thank you. Again." More than a little puzzled, Harry started up the twisted staircase. With a sigh, he unlocked the room and let himself inside, looking forward to a feather mattress and at least eight hours of sleep. Sleep that he could only hope wouldn't be haunted with images of his godfather.   
  
"Lumio." The softly spoken spell and the sudden presence of light caught Harry completely off guard. His hand dug into his robes for his wand, but before he could pull it out, he relaxed...but not by much.  
  
Sitting upright in the bed, between the warm covers, was Hermione, dressed, if one could even call it that, in nothing but a thin-strapped mint-green satin nightgown. "It's about time," she said, indignantly. "I thought you might never show up."  
  
Harry put a hand to his forehead. "Hermione? What are you...why are you...how did you get..." He swallowed. "Why can't I finish a sentence?!"  
  
"I left Harry with Hagrid for the evening and Apparated out of Hogsmeade. I needed to talk to you," Hermione explained. She slid out of the bed and approached him.   
  
"Wearing that?" he squeaked.   
  
Hermione gave him a look. "You've seen me in less."  
  
Coughing, Harry managed to recover some of his lost senses. All he had to do to stay on track was avoid looking at anything below her neck. "You promised me you'd stay at Hogwarts."  
  
"I know I did." She put her hands on her hips. "Then I really thought about it and I suddenly realized I was being shafted."  
  
"Shafted?" he repeated.  
  
"Shafted. You were asking me to stay at home where things were safe because...I don't know. I'm just a girl, maybe. Or because you're stuck on some ancient idea of the happy homemaker and the alpha male who goes out and fights the wild boar for dinner!"  
  
"Actually..." Harry folded his arms over his cloak. "I was trying to protect you."  
  
"Exactly!" Hermione pointed a finger at him with angry accusation. "Harry, never once, in the myriad of dangerous adventures we had as children, did you *ever* exclude me like you have been since Halloween night. And I'm sick of it! You might think you can do this all by yourself and keep me safe in the process, but you're only making me feel useless."  
  
Harry's arms slowly unfolded. "Hermione...I didn't realize. I never meant to exclude you. I just wanted..." He shook his head. "I wanted to make sure that you were never hurt like that again."  
  
"You can't keep me in a glass jar, Harry." Her furious expression relaxed. "I'm as much a part of this as you are."   
  
After a long minute, Harry nodded. "You're right. I haven't been exactly forthcoming with you. But then...you haven't been entirely honest with me either."  
  
"What do you mean?"  
  
"Never mind for now," Harry said. "You've had your reasons. You were trying to protect me, too."  
  
Hermione looked down at her bare feet. "I suppose a mother's instincts die hard."  
  
"Not a mother. Not for me." Harry reached out and pulled her towards his body. He smiled when Hermione wrapped her arms around his torso and laid the side of her head on his upper chest. Suddenly, the rest of his night came flooding back to him. "'Mione...if you're in this with me, you have to know. Sirius has disappeared."  
  
She pulled back, worry taking a deep seed in her eyes. "He didn't meet you here?"  
  
Harry shook his head. "I have some vague leads, but there isn't much to be done until morning." He paused; the next news would be the hardest to get out. "I lied to you. We weren't planning to investigate Knockturn Alley. We were hoping to find something on...Draco Malfoy."  
  
"Draco? What does he have to do with all of..." Hermione stopped suddenly. "Harry..."  
  
"It was hard for me to fathom at first, too. It seems like whenever there's a problem, I want to immediately point the finger of blame at Voldemort. But he really is gone. And the only source of everything now is his self-titled successor. Malfoy."  
  
Hermione touched her suddenly pale cheek. "Ron?"  
  
"He killed him," Harry said as gently as possible.  
  
"Ron's death was an accident," Hermione whispered. The words were rote, memorized over the long months. A mantra that had created a false sense of security in her life.   
  
Harry reached for her hand. "No. And you know it. Don't you think it's time everyone else did, too?"  
  
Tears filled Hermione's wide eyes. "In front of everyone....the scaffolding just fell. I saw him later...after they had pulled Ron's body out of the rubble." She closed her eyes, letting the tears spill. "He was smiling...and there was nothing I could do about it."  
  
"And now he has my godfather." Harry spoke between clenched teeth as he pulled her back into a strong embrace. "It's time to end all of this. We are going to find Sirius and then find the evidence to put Malfoy away in Azkaban until he withers up and dies."   
  
"If we don't?" Her question was muffled through the wool of Harry's robes.   
  
Harry's eyes glinted like twin emeralds. "He wants to be the next Dark Lord? That's just fine. I'll send him to the same place I sent Voldemort."   
  
Hermione shivered. "I get frightened when you talk like that, Harry."  
  
"I'm sorry." He blinked out of the moment and dropped a soft kiss onto the top of her head. "Hopefully it won't come to that." Harry yawned suddenly; his exhaustion had been forgotten when he found her in his bed, but had now crept back upon him.   
  
She slipped out of his arms and took his hand. "The man downstairs was surprisingly *not* surprised when I took this room for us. Maybe he thinks I'm just a lucky Potter-groupie..."  
  
"I'm the lucky one," Harry said as she walked them back towards the bed. "I finally get to spend the whole night with you."   
  
"Yes..." Hermione nuzzled the underside of his jaw before lifting her chin to give him a slow, deep kiss. "We can spend the whole, long night together....sleeping. Because you need your rest." She pulled back abruptly and rushed to climb back into bed. "You're not a cover-hog, are you?" Hermione asked, snuggling into her pillow, her back facing the empty side. Without waiting for an answer, she closed her eyes.  
  
Frustrated, Harry untied his robes and pulled at the rest of his clothes until they were gone. He slid into bed next to her; an attempt to roll her over to face him was unsuccessful. Sighing, he ran his fingers through his messy bangs several times. "Goodnight, Hermione." Settling into his own pillow, he called out, "Nox," undoing her spell.   
  
In the dark, when he reached for her again, she put up no more resistance. Sleep was placed on an indefinite hold as they sought the comfort of each other's bodies. Not the fumblings of their youth, nor the quick, quiet explosion at Christmas, it was passion and tenderness, sweet and tart, lightning and sunshine. And fortunately, almost endless.   
  
The next morning, Harry woke up with her warm back pressed to his chest, his arms circling her. Surrounding her. "We should have been able to do this a long time ago," he whispered into the thick locks of her hair that his head lay upon.   
  
"Yes," Hermione agreed. She turned over in the circle of his arms to see him. "I don't want to wake up alone ever again."  
  
"You won't," he promised. As her lips met his once again, Harry suddenly realized something. He was in no position to make such a promise. There was no guarantee anymore than he could keep it.  
  
****  
  
To Be Continued 


	11. WitSharpening Potion

Disclaimer: Harry Potter and most everything in the world of this story do not belong to me as they were not thought up by my feeble brain, but by JK Rowling, who has more imagination in her thumb than most of us possess in our entire bodies.   
  
Author's Notes: An inexcusable amount of time has passed since I last updated this story; I apologize. I got busy with school and other stories and it wasn't until I saw "HP and the Chamber of Secrets" on Friday that I got really inspired again. Thanks for your patience, and I hope you enjoy!  
  
****  
  
An Organ of Fire  
by Kristen Elizabeth  
  
****  
  
After a quick breakfast of tea and toast, Harry and Hermione apparated out of Diagon Alley and onto the front steps of a two-story, impressively boring building, obviously designed to draw as little attention as possible.   
  
"The Ministry of Magic," Hermione said as soon as Harry appeared next to her. She shivered involuntarily despite her warm navy blue and cream-colored robes. "I haven't been here in a...in awhile."   
  
Harry was quick to take her mittened hand. "I promise we won't be here for long."   
  
"Remind me again why we're here at all? Do you think someone might know what's happened to Sirius?"   
  
He expelled a deep breath. "I don't know. Maybe." There was a pause. "Ron found something out...something that had the power to bring down Malfoy. And it cost him his life. Now Sirius has disappeared, right after he discovered the same thing, but before I could get here and learn about it."  
  
"Given that pattern, I can't say I'm all that sorry that you're in the dark, Harry," Hermione's tone was quiet, but dry.   
  
Blinking away the powdery snow that had sprung up during their conversation, Harry looked up at the mottled grey sky. His eyes dropped back down; beside the building's door was a plaque that read "Paddington and Associates," another obvious attempt at disguise. Few Muggles would wander into such a dour place with no real idea what was inside.   
  
"I think I have to find out, 'Mione." He gently tugged on her hand, pulling her towards the entrance. "There must be something of Ron's old work left, in the records section, if nowhere else. Sirius discovered it, after all."   
  
"Actually Ron's office..." Hermione bit her lip.   
  
Harry stopped with his hand on the door and looked back at her. "Ron's office? What about it?"  
  
"They asked me to come in...and clean it out. After his funeral." She hesitated. "I never did."  
  
"So...all of Ron's reports and papers are still just...lying about?" Harry asked, frowning. "Then there's probably nothing left at all!! Malfoy would have gotten rid of it, either a long time ago, or right after he did...whatever he's done to my godfather."   
  
Hermione shook her head. "No. That's just the thing. The reason I was supposed to do it and not, say, Percy who works here, too, if you remember, is that Ron had a complex network of spells set up to protect his files and workspace. I helped him cast the spells."   
  
Realization settled onto Harry. "Ron didn't trust the Aurors at all, did he? He was one of them, but...."  
  
"He didn't trust them as far as he could throw a dragon."   
  
"I'd imagine all this information would have been useful awhile back, Hermione."   
  
Meeting his exasperated gaze with a cool look of her own, she simply replied, "I'm sorry."   
  
"I understand you don't want me getting involved in..." Harry stopped. "Wait. If Sirius can't get in Ron's office, where did he get this information about Malfoy? And how did he think we were going to get more?"   
  
Hermione pulled her hand out of his, rather sheepishly. "I have to confess. I told Sirius about the spells...and how to get around them." At Harry's shocked and hurt expression, she continued. "I wanted him to solve everything, Harry! Again, I'm sorry!" Twin tears appeared in the corners of her eyes. "Ron's quest to bring down Malfoy got him killed and I had to watch it. Do you honestly think I was going to sit by and let you be next on his victim's list?"  
  
"You know....we're never going to get anywhere if we keep trying to over-protect each other."   
  
Because he said it with a smile, Hermione had to return the gesture. "You're right. We're losing sight of the true problem in all the secrets and miscommunications." She gestured to the door. "Why don't we just go inside? I can get us into Ron's office, and perhaps we can find out just what it was in Ron's files that Sirius found."   
  
"We can't take too long," Harry said, guiding her through the plain, wood door and into a drably furnished waiting area which was completely empty. "Every minute that goes by is another in which Malfoy could be torturing him. Or worse."   
  
Hermione slipped one hand out of her mitten and touched Harry's jaw; it was tightly clenched and cold to the touch. "Hey," she soothed, pressing her warm palm against the length of it. "Do you feel in your heart that he's alive?" After a moment, Harry nodded. "Then you have to hold onto that. All right?"   
  
Harry covered her fingers with his and drew them away from his face in order to plant a soft kiss on her lips. "I'll try." Breaking the delicious contact, he glanced around at their new surroundings. His forehead crinkled. The room was no more than fifteen feet by fifteen feet, much smaller than it had seemed from outside. Stranger than that, there were absolutely no windows and no doors, save for the entrance and an aged metal elevator to their right.   
  
"Um..." Harry turned around. "This is the entire Ministry of Magic?"   
  
"Quit thinking like a Muggle, Harry." Hermione started towards the elevator. "Let's just hope they haven't changed the password for some reason." Looking straight at the metal doors, she spoke in a clear, precise voice. "Where, oh where has my little dog gone?" A moment later, the shaft opened to reveal a rather plush elevator cab. "Come on...it won't stay open forever."   
  
Harry stepped inside with just a bit of hesitation. Just when he thought he had finally learned everything there was to know about the Magical world, he always found himself confronted with a new and unexpected experience. Fortunately, Hermione was there to guide him, or else he might still have been in the lobby, scratching his head.   
  
A panel to the right side of the door on the inside was just like a normal Muggle elevator, except that each button for each floor had a different, moving picture for whichever department was located on it. To Harry's surprise, there were approximately fifty floors in what had looked from the outside to be a two-story structure.   
  
He examined the buttons for a moment after the doors had shut behind them. "Which one..."  
  
Hermione smiled and reached for the button with a picture of Azkaban. Like the other pictures Harry had seen of the place, a storm raged, sending crashing waves up onto the rocky shores of the island on which the Wizard prison was located. Lightning crashed, but Hermione ignored it as she pressed the button. The elevator lurched not straight up or down, but to a sharp right angle.   
  
"Fifteenth floor, East Wing," she explained to Harry. "Auror's Headquarters."   
  
****  
  
The Department of Magical Law Enforcement was nothing like Harry had imagined on the few occasions when he had thought anything about it. Although he knew that it existed and knew what purpose it served, he had always envisioned it as a rather neat and orderly sort of place, rather like a Muggle police station such as the ones he had toured with his primary school class back when he lived with the Dursley's.   
  
He had not been prepared for the shadowed, cluttered and cramped office that he and Hermione stepped into from the safe confines of the elevator cab. There was no receptionist; in fact, there was no one in sight.  
  
No one human, that was. On the floor next to an empty receptionist's desk, a three-headed dog, much like Hagrid's old pet, Fluffy, but the size of a regular animal, sat, watching the elevator doors. He snarled, baring crooked, but sharp teeth.   
  
"Take it easy, Sideon," Hermione said, approaching the dog before Harry could stop her. She held out her hand and one of the heads sniffed it. "Do you remember me?"  
  
There was a thumping sound as the dog's tail began to wag. The same head licked Hermione's palm before settling down to watch Harry with three keen pairs of eyes.  
  
"He won't hurt you," she assured him. "Sideon belongs to the head of the department, Jeremiah Ringwood. I think you can guess why he's far better than a receptionist."   
  
"I suppose no one really comes here who isn't either employed or looking for trouble," Harry commented, following Hermione around the desk, but keeping a safe distance between himself and the dog. "So, what category do we fall into?"  
  
She flashed him a brief smile and pointed to a dark door. "This one was Ron's office."   
  
"Not a very lively place, is it?"  
  
"The Aurors tend to keep to themselves," Hermione said, gesturing to the myriad of closed office doors around Ron's. "Comes from the fact that any one of them are ready, at any minute, to turn a co-worker over if the need ever arose. It doesn't create a warm work atmosphere."   
  
Harry grimaced. "Moody told us that we'd make good Aurors. Do you suppose that was some sort of comment about us?"  
  
"Considering the fact that it actually came from the mouth of someone working with Voldemort to kill you, I wouldn't put too much weight on the suggestion." She withdrew her wand from her robes and stepped in front of the door. "Corpeus Inflamario!"  
  
"What does that mean?" Harry asked, puzzled.   
  
Hermione blushed as she pulled the door open, having released the first spell. "I'm fairly sure you don't want to know, Harry."   
  
Still confused, but certain he was better off staying that way, Harry followed her into Ron's tiny office. She shut the door behind them, just in case any of the other Aurors wandered out of their offices. "All right. Ron kept everything of importance in that drawer." Hermione walked around the cluttered desk and sat down in an overstuffed chair. She seemed to be trying awfully hard not to break down at the complete sense of Ron that permeated the room.   
  
And Harry himself was having trouble as he looked around. One of Ron's old Chudley Cannons poster, torn in several places, hung on one wall. In fact, the walls were almost entirely covered with maps, charts and hand-scribbled notes that had been haphazardly tacked up wherever there was room. Harry squinted to read one.  
  
"IMPORTANT," the note declared in Ron's staccato handwriting. "Ginny's new boyfriend is called TheoDORE, not TheoBALD."   
  
When he read it out loud, Hermione smiled softly, her eyes shining with new tears. "I had forgotten about that." But she didn't explain; she simply returned her attention to the desk drawer and the spell to unlock it.   
  
Harry turned his attention to Ron's desk. It was cluttered with balled-up parchment, dry inkwells and broken quills. In fact, only two things held positions of importance, in that the area around them was relatively tidy. One was a Quaffle, the same one Ron had used in his first game as a Gryffindor Chaser. He and Hermione had been so proud of their friend that day; he might have been the one to catch the Snitch and win, but it had been Ron's game.   
  
The second item was, Harry discovered after he turned it around, a framed picture of Ron and Hermione on their wedding day. Harry bit down on the inside of his cheek. They both looked so happy, feeding each other cake that he just knew had been made by Molly Weasley and laughing at each other before Ron swallowed and leaned in to kiss his bride.   
  
He turned the picture back around and cleared his throat. "Any luck with the...Hermione?"  
  
She had stopped her spell; her wand was caught up in her tightly balled fist. Her slender shoulders shook as she began to cry. "I miss him, Harry. I love you and I never stopped loving you entirely, but I loved him, too. I wanted to be able to love him more." Hermione wiped at her eyes. "I think he always knew. He never would have said it...never would have thought it...but I was just another hand-me-down. Someone else's belonging that got passed to him."   
  
"'Mione..."  
  
"He loved me so much, Harry. And I adored him. I would have done anything for him. It's just...he wasn't you. He never could be. And he knew that, too."  
  
Harry forced down a rising lump in his throat. "Ron...was my best friend on this earth. I told myself when I left, that I wanted you to get on with your life. I'm glad it was with him." He reached across the desk for her hand and gently rubbed the back of it with his thumb until her fingers relaxed. "I miss him, too. Do you see now why I *can't* let Malfoy get away with taking him from us?"   
  
She sniffed back leftover tears and nodded. Transferring her wand to her other hand, she went at the desk drawer again. "Adamo concumbo!" The drawer popped open and parchment paper went flying. After Hermione had collected all the loose pieces, she started pulling out scrolls bound in leather tubes. "Here. Start looking."   
  
Two and a half hours later, Harry had a crick in his neck, his eyes were dry and itchy and his stomach growled for his attention. Ripping off his glasses, he pinched the bridge of his nose. "Anything yet?"  
  
Hermione set aside one roll of parchment and reached for another. "I don't think Ron ever closed any of his files...and he worked here for a good seven years! He just left all of this scattered everywhere in that drawer." She unrolled the paper and scanned it with a wife's frustration. "That is so like him! Organizationally impaired, even when it comes to the most important..." Her rant came to an abrupt halt.  
  
"What is it?" Harry asked, rubbing the back of his neck. When she didn't reply, he hastily slid his glasses back into place. "Did you find something?"  
  
"This is it," she whispered. "This....is what Ron died for."   
  
She barely reacted a moment later when Harry plucked the paper from her hands. Forgetting his hunger and fatigue, Harry quickly read the entire document. After the third time through it, he lifted his head. "Malfoy's robe..." The parchment crumpled in his fist. "I should have recognized it straight away!! How could I..." He squeezed his eyes shut and threw the paper down. "How could I have been so blind? Especially after Bill Jr. pointed it out to us?!"  
  
"I didn't remember either, Harry. And I was far less caught up in the danger that night." Hermione stroked his arm with her own trembling hand. "You were fighting for your life; you can't expect yourself to remember every last detail of..."  
  
"But I should, Hermione! It wasn't some little school fight I got into. It was a fight to the death with Voldemort! I should remember everything! And for the most part, I can." Harry began pacing in front of Ron's desk. "I can remember what it felt like to have him send lightning through my shoulder...I can remember every wrinkle in his face as he tried to strangle me...I can close my eyes and feel that sense of power when I called up every force in the world to cast him out of ours." He shook his head. "Why couldn't I recognize the robe...the only piece of him that was left behind...the moment I saw it on Malfoy in a picture?! Not to mention when I saw him in Hogsmeade..."  
  
Hermione frowned. "You ran into Draco? When?"  
  
"The Dark Mark. On his cape. I should have..." Harry stopped. "This is proof, Hermione. It at least points a bloody lot of suspicion towards the bastard. Enough maybe to knock him off his pedestal. I mean, just the fact that he figured out how Malfoy got it was enough for Malfoy to kill Ron. Because he knows that no one, not even the most corrupt pureblood family imaginable, would support him if it became public knowledge that he wears Voldemort's robe with pride. Right"  
  
She picked up the paper and unfolded it. Ron's sloppy handwriting indicated how fast he had tried to copy down the information about the Malfoy family gaining possession of Voldemort's last remaining belonging after his death at Harry's hands.   
  
"I suppose we'll find out. I just hope..." Hermione closed her eyes briefly as wave of nausea swept over her. "...that your faith in people...won't be...disappointed."   
  
Harry's eyes grew wide as Hermione's head dropped to the soft cushion of parchment papers across Ron's desk. The memories, the revelations, the sheer exhaustion, it had all become too much for her. She fainted and not even Harry's arms around her could rouse her out of the blissful darkness.   
  
****  
  
To Be Continued 


	12. Unbreakable Charm

Disclaimer: I merely borrow to create. And since I can't exactly ask for permission, I just need to make it clear....we all know who came up with this stuff and it's not me.   
  
Author's Notes: Thank you so much for the response to the last chapter! I'm very flattered that yall are still reading, despite my long breaks between chapters. Next month, I'm graduating from college with my Creative Writing degree that's only taken nearly five years to get and hopefully, I'll have even more time in the New Year to work on this story. Although I'm on a roll now, I don't want to jinx it;)   
  
****  
  
An Organ of Fire  
by Kristen Elizabeth  
  
****  
  
Buffy: No, but, see, Mom, that doesn't really work for me. We're just going to the magic shop, no school supplies there.  
Dawn: Yeah, Mom. I'm not going to Hogwarts. (chuckles) Hog- (looks at Buffy, who's not amused) Jeez, crack a book sometime.   
  
****  
  
"Hermione." Harry's voice was the next thing she was aware of; he called her name gently while his hands lightly patted her cheeks. "I think she's coming around."   
  
Unsure of to whom he spoke, Hermione forced her eyes open. "Harry?"   
  
"Hey, relax," he ordered when she tried to sit up. "You're going to be fine, but there's no need to rush yourself."   
  
Hermione frowned despite the warm comfort that she found in the centers of his eyes. "I fainted?" He nodded. "Then where..." She tried to glance around, realizing that she was lying on something unfamiliar.   
  
"Welcome back, Hermione." A familiar face joined Harry's high above her. "You gave poor Harry quite a scare, you know."   
  
She relaxed and smiled at the man. "Neville." After studying him for a minute, she continued, "You've lost a lot of weight!"  
  
Together with Harry, their old schoolmate, fellow Gryffindor Neville Longbottom, helped her into a sitting position on what she assumed was his own desk. "Thank you," he replied. "How are you feeling?"  
  
"I'm all right." She looked at Harry; he was rubbing her lower back with one hand ever so lightly. "We're in..."  
  
"The first office I could get you to," Harry replied. "What luck, eh? Finding Neville in the Department of Magical Catastrophes."   
  
With a wave of his wand, Neville conjured a glass of water and handed it to Hermione. "I've been working here almost six years now."   
  
"I had heard that." She drank, grateful for the thoughtful gesture. "Actually it was a bit of a surprise when I did."  
  
"Oh, to me, too," Neville said, laughing. "Professor Snape called me a walking Magical Catastrophe once, and now I work to clean them up. Poetic, isn't it?"  
  
Harry, though still worried about Hermione's sudden affliction, managed a wicked smile. "I'll make sure to tell him all about you."   
  
"I'd appreciate that." He glanced back and forth between his old friends. "What brings you two to the Ministry in the first place? And you...Harry...where the bloody hell have you been for ten years?"   
  
"Long...very long story," Harry grimaced. "But we're actually here to...um...look for my godfather. He's missing."  
  
Neville frowned. "Sirius Black is missing? We haven't heard anything about it, Harry."  
  
"It just happened," Hermione informed him. Her stomach still rolled and bucked with nausea; it was a struggle to suppress the urge to vomit.   
  
"Hermione, I think we should get you to a..."  
  
She cut Harry off with a wave of her hand. "I just...probably need something to eat. Something...really bland though." She looked at Neville. "We didn't sleep very much last...I mean *I*...*I* didn't sleep very much last night. Me. Just me. Alone." Hermione put a hand on her stomach. "That's why I don't feel well."   
  
Neville's eyebrows lifted, but said nothing more on the subject. "I'll get the Aurors looking for Sirius right away, Harry."  
  
"No! Actually I was just thinking that it would be great if you could get a...small team together to look into it. People you trust completely." Harry gave the other man a significant look.   
  
"Er...all right." Neville hesitated. "Hermione...I was so sorry to hear about Ron. I should have visited you sooner to apologize for not making it to the funeral. I was on my honeymoon when it..." He stopped. "He was a great man."   
  
Hermione nodded. "Yes, he was. Thank you, Neville."   
  
"So, you're just here to report Black's disappearance?" Neville said, changing the subject. "You're a terribly long way from the Department of Mysteries."   
  
"Actually..." Harry licked his lips. Neville had always been a loyal and trustworthy friend. Having his help and through him, having the Ministry's resources, would be a great advantage when it came time to bring down Malfoy. But still, something kept him from telling the other man the entire truth. Especially when he glanced at Neville's office walls and saw pictures of him and his wife, a witch he didn't recognize, and even more recent pictures of the couple with a tiny baby girl.   
  
He couldn't bring Neville into the heart of danger. As much as he might have grown up and would now be able to take care of himself, Harry couldn't bear to risk any more innocent lives.   
  
"Actually," he started again. "We were just...a little turned around."  
  
Neville nodded. "It's a confusing place, but I like working here. I don't even get lost anymore." He paused. "Remember Seamus?"  
  
"Of course."  
  
"He works a few floors over. Regulation of Magical Creatures."   
  
Harry smiled. "Maybe we'll drop in on him. But first..." He glanced at Hermione.   
  
"I'm fine now, Harry," she lied.   
  
"You probably shouldn't be Apparating though," Neville said. "Where are you staying? Diagon Alley?" When they both nodded, he reached for his cape which hung from a hat rack next to his desk. "I'll get a Ministry car and drive you over there."   
  
"That's really not necessary, Neville," Hermione said, although the idea sounded wonderful.  
  
"I insist." As he donned the cape, he watched Harry help Hermione off the desk with the greatest of care. The corners of his lips turned up. Harry Potter and Hermione Granger...Weasley. After all that time, all the separation, all the loss and heartache they must have suffered, it looked as though the Golden Couple of Gryffindor, even if they had been the last ones to realize that they were so, had found their way back to each other.   
  
He couldn't wait to tell everyone the good news.  
  
****  
  
Neville left them in front of the London street entrance to the Leaky Cauldron with the promise that he would set a team of trustworthy Ministry employees onto the mystery of Sirius' disappearance. While Harry was grateful for the help, a seed of doubt had crept into the back of his mind during their car ride through London. If anyone was going to find his godfather, it had to be him and him alone.   
  
Once inside the tavern, Harry ordered Hermione to sit in front of the fire and rest while he ordered a lunch of bread, plain cheese and gillywater to settle her stomach. They ate in silence for a long time until Hermione finally spoke.   
  
"You didn't really want to get Neville involved, did you?"  
  
Harry swallowed a mouthful of cheese. "He has a wife. And a baby. I couldn't."   
  
"I just wanted to make sure you weren't judging him based on how he was in school. Because he's obviously changed." Hermione took a tiny sip of her water; her stomach was feeling much better, but she had no desire to push it. The nausea had hit too suddenly for her liking.   
  
"He's done well for himself," Harry agreed. "It's hard to explain without sounding..."   
  
"Pompous?"  
  
He smiled. "I'll accept that. Pompous, yes. It's hard to say without being pompous that in the end, it always comes down to us, Hermione. You, me...Ron. And it's mostly my fault for being who I am. But it just seems like...I shouldn't drag other people into our..." He stopped, shaking his head. "I don't even know what I'm saying anymore." Harry ran all ten fingers through his hair, pushing it back from his brow and baring his scar. "I'd really just like to go upstairs and spend the rest of the day in bed with you."   
  
She blushed suddenly, although the prospect didn't fail to appeal to her. "How about the next best thing?"  
  
"The next best thing to sex?" Harry gave her a look. "And that would be...?"   
  
****  
  
"Quidditch!" Hermione declared ten minutes later when they came to a stop in front of Quality Quidditch Supplies, Harry's favorite store in the world during their Hogwarts years. "Right?"  
  
"I don't know," Harry said, scratching his cheek. "It's rather a toss-up for me. Sex or Quidditch...which is better? I'll have to give this some..."   
  
She silenced him with a hand to his mouth. "Harry Potter!"   
  
"Glad to see you're feeling better," he mumbled through her fingers.   
  
"Do you want to go in or not?" Hermione asked, releasing him. Harry looked at the window display of the new Firebolt X-4000 and nodded obediently. She smiled and brushed snow out of his hair. "I can't wait for spring. You always looked so good on a broom."   
  
He wagged a finger at her. "Now who's being naughty?" Laughing at her expression, he pushed the door to the store open and waited for her to enter first.   
  
During his first minute and a half in the store, Harry spotted ten things he could blow his entire salary on with little to no hesitation. But he was surprised to realize the items which caught his attention weren't even things he could use to play the game. They were all child-sized gear, protective padding, robes, beginner's broom-care kit....and all picked out with little Harry in mind.   
  
When Hermione caught him examining a winter practice robe that could only fit a child, her chest began to ache. The last time she had been in here had been with Ron as they shopped for little Harry's ninth birthday. Ron had wanted to buy one of everything in the store for the boy, but she had held back and convinced him to get a different present. Flying wasn't exactly prohibited until that first lesson at Hogwarts, but it was discouraged, as she had had to remind him several times.   
  
So, because of her unwillingness to bend any rules, even the unspoken ones, Ron would never get to see the boy he helped raise play the game over which they had bonded so intensely. Harry, however, would. She wasn't quite sure how she felt about that.   
  
She had no time to ponder this, however. Harry's sudden strong grip on her arm shook her out of her memories. "Harry?"   
  
"Malfoy," he said in a low, cold tone that sent shiver throughout her body. "He's here."   
  
Hermione followed his focused stare across the store. "Harry...please don't..." But he was already walking over. Silently cursing, she followed him.   
  
Draco stood in front of the counter, counting out gold Galleons as the clerk wrapped brown paper around a long object. As Harry moved closer, he watched a young boy run up to his former schoolmate. The boy appeared to be about little Harry's age, but it was the slicked-back, platinum hair that gave away his identity.   
  
If there was any left over doubt in Harry's mind, it was dispelled when the child looked up at Draco. "Father, I want one of those." He pointed to a large display of training Quaffles.   
  
"Wrap up two of those," Draco ordered the clerk. Nodding, the older man hastened to do Malfoy's bidding.   
  
Harry could feel his teeth grinding, but he managed to keep himself under a thin veil of control as he addressed the would-be Dark Lord. "Post-Christmas shopping, Malfoy?"  
  
Spinning around would have been beneath him; Draco simply turned his head, showing no surprise to see Harry and Hermione behind him. "Birthday," he replied. With a glance down, he smiled cooly. "It isn't every day that a child turns eleven." He placed a hand on the back of the boy's head and pushed him forward. "My son, Bronson Malfoy."  
  
"The Third," the child emphasized, looking up at Harry with piercing blue eyes. "Who are you?"  
  
"Bronson..." Draco smile with much condescension as he made the introductions. "The *great* Harry Potter."   
  
The boy looked bored. "Smashing." Turning his attention to the counter top, he reached for the brown paper wrapped package. "Is this my Firebolt, Father?"  
  
Hermione frowned. "Draco...surely you're not buying him a broomstick for his birthday."   
  
"And what if I were?" he countered, a sneer marring his thin lips. "What would it be to you?"  
  
"Children," she began quietly. "Are not to come to school with their own broomstick."   
  
Draco considered her for a long moment. "Bronson, you remember Mrs. Weasley. Or have you gone back to 'Granger' now that you're a widow?"   
  
Hermione stared at him. There was no hint of guilt or remorse or even acknowledgment of her pain, pain he had inflicted, on his cold features. How had the boy who had been merely a school bully and more of a bother than a threat, turned into someone who could murder without care? "I've kept Ron's name," she replied. "You couldn't take that away from me." Harry's discreet hand on her arm gave her words strength.  
  
A moment passed; had the setting been less public, Harry would have loved to knock the chuckle right off of the blonde man's face. The clerk milled around them, wrapping Bronson's presents, but the three adults ignored him. "Harry Potter will be one of your teachers next year, Bronson." Draco jerked his son's attention back to the conversation by grabbing his shoulder and pulling him against his robes.   
  
Harry's eyes narrowed. Voldemort's robes.   
  
"I've already gotten my letter," Bronson smirked. "Has Harry?" he asked Hermione. The question could have been friendly, had the boy not had such a fierce look of competitive malice.   
  
He went ignored as his father continued. "Mrs. Weasley teaches at Hogwarts now, too. But don't worry...you won't have her next year."   
  
"Just what does that mean?" Harry asked. His wand was in his pockets; it would only take a second to...  
  
Hermione stepped in front of him. "All first year students take History of Magic, Draco. Whether you like it or not, I will be teaching your son."   
  
He smiled again, revealing identical rows of perfect, white teeth. "We shall see." Releasing Bronson's shoulders, Draco handed the last of the Galleons to the store clerk. "Deliver everything by tomorrow morning," he instructed. As a second thought, he picked up the wrapped broomstick. "Except for this."   
  
Bronson took his present with glee, cradling it like a girl would a favorite doll. Draco looked back at his childhood adversaries. "I'll be seeing you around," he promised.   
  
Before he could follow his son to the door, Harry caught Draco's arm. "I know about you," he stated in a low, clear voice.   
  
Draco arched an eyebrow, but displayed no worry. "And just what does Harry Potter think he knows?"  
  
"Nice robes," Harry continued, releasing him. "They look...very familiar to me. I wonder on whom I've seen them before..."  
  
The amusement in Draco's eyes died. "You've seen them on me. You prat," he added for lack of anything else to say.   
  
Harry smiled, shaking his head. "If I've figured it out, Malfoy, it's only a matter of time before everyone does."   
  
A moment slipped by in which Harry truly thought it possible that Draco might slip up and give something away. But, all too soon, the cool grin was back on his face, as though nothing in the world could bother him. "It's going to take more than clothes, Potter," he chuckled, backing away.   
  
"What have you done to my godfather, you bloody bastard?" Harry hissed, not caring who might be watching or listening. "If you've harmed him in any way..."  
  
Draco shook his head. For the benefit of the shoppers around them who couldn't hear their conversation, but could see Harry Potter and Draco Malfoy on the brink of a fight, he raised his voice several notches. "Poor Potter. You've been around Muggles and Mudbloods too long. Starting to lose what little sense you ever had." He moved closer and lowered his voice. "If I wanted to harm Sirius Black, do you think you'd ever see him alive again?"   
  
As Harry absorbed this, Draco swept out of the store, his full, black robes billowing behind him. After what seemed like half a lifetime, Harry lunged for the door.   
  
"Harry!!" Hermione's cry didn't stop him as he raced back into the snow-covered street. He glanced around wildly, scaring a group of children looking at the owls for sale across the way at Eeylops Owl Emporium. But it was in vain; Draco and his son had already vanished. Harry stood in the middle of Diagon Alley, chest rising and falling with each breath, ignoring everything and everyone around him.   
  
Hermione approached him from behind, placing her hands delicately on his shoulder blades. "Harry..." She could feel the tension in his body through his robes. "Everything he does...everything he says is meant to provoke you. Don't let him."  
  
Harry nodded, but didn't...couldn't relax. "He's got something up his sleeve, Hermione...and it's something to do with you. I'll kill him before I let him hurt you again."   
  
She moved around in front him quickly. "Stop. Listen to yourself! He's twisting you all around to his liking! You're starting to think like him now, and I'm not going to let it happen." There was a pause. "We're going back to Hogwarts."   
  
"Hermione..."  
  
"Don't you even try to argue this with me, Harry Potter." Her eyes brimmed over with tears. "We're going back to the Leaky Cauldron, getting our things and Apparating straight to Hogsmeade." The tears spilled over onto her smooth cheeks. "There's nothing more to be done here."   
  
"Sirius," he stated, brushing away the wet tracks.   
  
"What else can you do, Harry?"   
  
His stomach dropped at the impact of the question. "Nothing." Harry lowered his arm. "Nothing at all."   
  
"Sirius...wherever he might be...is a survivor. He made it out of Azkaban, he eluded capture, he cleared his own name..." Hermione cupped Harry's face in her hands. "You know what he'd tell you to do."  
  
Harry closed his eyes. "Go home."   
  
"Yes." Standing her toes, she kissed Harry's scar ever so lightly. "Let's go home, Harry."   
  
When he opened his eyes again, she was smiling up at him. His anger melted in her warmth. Without thinking, he pulled her into a tight embrace. "I love you," he whispered into her hair.   
  
She didn't ever want to pull away from him, but the feeling that everyone on the street was staring at them was too great. With a fair amount of grace, she managed to slip out of his arms, but took his hand to make up for it. "Come on."   
  
Together, they walked back to the mouth of Diagon Alley and re-entered the Leaky Cauldron.   
  
"Back again?" the barkeep winked at Harry. "Just window shoppin', eh?"   
  
He gave the man a patient smile. "Can you settle our bill, please? We'll be down to pay for it in..."   
  
"Harry!" Hermione grabbed his sleeve, cutting him off. "Oh god, Harry! Look!!"  
  
"What is it, Her..." He stopped abruptly, as his own gaze landed on what she had spotted only a moment earlier. At the very table at which they had eaten lunch no more than an hour earlier, a man in dark robes sat, staring at the blazing fire while sipping a pint of Muggle Guinness. The man looked up suddenly and smiled.   
  
Harry blinked, unbelieving of what he was seeing. "Sirius."  
  
****  
  
To Be Continued 


	13. Stunning Spell

Disclaimer: Characters and the world in which they exist do not belong to me, but to JK Rowling who went and thought them up, bless her soul.   
  
Author's Notes: Thank you for all the delicious feedback; I treasure it all. Gary Skinner, leave an email address sometime; I'd like to talk to/thank you. I hope you all keep enjoying the story; I'm having the most wonderful time romping through Rowling's magical world.   
  
****  
  
An Organ of Fire  
by Kristen Elizabeth  
  
****  
  
"Sirius!" Without trepidation, Harry ran towards his godfather. The man set down his drink and stood up just as Harry came to a stop in front of him. "Sirius. You're..."  
  
"Late, I know. My apologies. An important affair that I had to settle. I hope I haven't inconvenienced you."   
  
Hermione came up behind Harry. "Just worried us."   
  
Harry nodded emphatically. "I thought that Malfoy might have..." He shook his head. "He had better just be glad, for his own sake, that you're all right."   
  
"It was just a bit of miscommunication, Harry," Sirius said, picking up his Guinness. "What have I missed while I was gone?" He used the glass to indicate Hermione. "I see you haven't been alone."   
  
"Harry and I have been looking for you," she said. A frown crinkled her forehead. "What sort of business kept you from sending an owl?"  
  
"Well..." the older man began.  
  
Harry cut him off. "It doesn't really matter, Sirius. The important thing is that Hermione and I found the information."  
  
"In Ron's office?"   
  
"Yes. Malfoy's robes." Harry glanced around and lowered his voice. "They belonged to Voldemort." A moment passed. "That was the information we were supposed to investigate, right?"  
  
Sirius blinked. "What? Oh...yes. Yes, it was."  
  
Harry cursed, suddenly remembering the other part of his mission in London. "There was also the bit about Pansy's murder. Malfoy's wife," he emphasized. "I forgot to look into that entirely."  
  
"Don't worry. I'll take care of that. But the part about Malfoy's robes...that's all you found in Ron's office?" Both Harry and Hermione nodded. "Nothing else?"  
  
Hermione looked up at him. "Nothing, Sirius."   
  
"I see." The man took long sip of his drink. "Well then...we've done pretty much all we can for now. Good job, both of you."   
  
"But Malfoy..."  
  
Sirius licked his lips to clear away the foamy traces of the Guinnesses head. "It's now just a matter of biding our time, Harry. Waiting...watching. One of these days, he'll slip up. In the meantime, you both have classes and students you should get back to."   
  
"We were just about to leave for Hogsmeade," Hermione informed him. "Harry....our Harry might have gotten his letter while we were gone."   
  
"Your Harry. Yes." Sirius drank again. "Then you should go, right?"  
  
"What are you going to do, Sirius?" Harry asked.   
  
The older man put his drink back down. "There are Governor's meetings coming up. Malfoy will be attending all of them. And I plan to be there to map out his every move."  
  
Harry nodded. "Thank you." A moment passed before Harry moved to embrace his godfather. "I felt completely lost when I thought you were gone."   
  
Sirius clapped a hand against his back several times. "Safe journey back to Hogwarts."   
  
Straightening up, Harry reached for Hermione's hand. "Shall we?" He was too caught up in his own relief to notice her hesitation as he began to guide her away. "Goodbye, Sirius."   
  
Hermione turned her head for one last look back at the man. He had sat back down with his drink, his profile dark against the roaring fire.   
  
****  
  
The wonderful thing about returning to Hogwarts after any absence, short or extended, was the fact that it never really changed. It always stood tall and distinguished, and ready to welcome back any member of its family.   
  
Harry and Hermione reached the castle at dusk and piled their two travel bags next to the staircase that led to the Great Hall for an unseen, but Hermione was happy to note, compensated house-elf to whisk away to their apartments.   
  
They stood on the stone landing for a long moment, merely looking at each other. The light from the torches caught up in Hermione's hair and cast a warm glow over her lovely face. Harry had to remind himself to breathe for a moment. "Back to the daily grind," he said, out of the blue.   
  
She nodded a bit. "Same as before."  
  
"But it's not." Harry took her hand. "Hermione, I don't want to part ways in the hall tonight and just go back to my apartment by myself. I can't ever be happy waking up alone again when I know what it feels like to wake up next to you."  
  
"I shouldn't have come to London, should I have?" She looked away. "I've made things worse..."  
  
Harry reached for her other hand. "No...no! We're a team, Hermione. We always have been. I needed you in London."   
  
"And now?"  
  
"I still need you. Just differently."   
  
"You have no idea..." Hermione began a second later, fighting with her tears. "...how much I need you, too. But..."  
  
"But there's our son to consider." She nodded again; Harry lowered his head. "Perhaps it's a good thing. Malfoy has no idea Harry is mine. I think it might be better for him to keep thinking that." He suddenly chuckled.  
  
"What's funny?"   
  
Harry's chuckle turned into a laugh. "I'm sorry. It's just...I was thinking about how odd it is. Both Malfoy and I...fathering children straight out of school. It's just...well, all right...it's not *that* funny. It's just rather..." He cleared his throat. "Sorry. I'll stop talking now."   
  
His laughter was infectious; a tiny grin spread across Hermione's face. "My greatest comfort when I found out I was pregnant came from the fact that at least I wasn't the first out of our class. Pansy was already showing at that point." The look on his face only increased her smile. "Don't tell me you didn't notice...even through her graduation robes."   
  
"I don't think it's something men tend to pick up on straight away."   
  
Hermione's smile lost some of its momentum. "No..I don't suppose....that it is."   
  
If he noticed the hand she pressed to her stomach, it certainly didn't stick out as anything of great significance to him. "I wonder if the entrance to the kitchens is still the same," Harry mused. "I could do with some supper. Are you up for it?"   
  
After a half second's hesitation, she replied. "I'm all right. I should be getting upstairs to check on..."  
  
"Mum!!"   
  
They both turned their heads to look at the banister above them on which their son leaned far over to see them better. "Harry!" Hermione's hand moved up to her chest. "Careful on the..." He was already halfway down the stairs before the word even left her mouth. "I give up," she sighed.   
  
When the boy arrived on the landing, he immediately launched himself into his mother's arms. Taken aback by the sudden contact after nearly a month of the silent treatment, Hermione instantly forgot to scold him for his recklessness on the stairs. She closed her eyes and folded her son into an embrace, bending her head to kiss the flaming top of his head.   
  
Harry's throat closed up at the scene before him. The desire to be a part of it made the very centers of his bones ache. Looking down at the floor, he backed up a few paces. The movement caught his son's attention; he cracked one emerald eye open and lifted his cheek from his mother's chest. "You don't have to go."   
  
"I don't want to intrude." Harry's voice was hoarse.   
  
"Harry," Hermione bit her lip. "You're..."  
  
"You're not intruding," the boy finished. "Hagrid says....that you're a part of me. Whether I like it or not."   
  
Hermione studied her son for a moment. "Just what else has Hagrid been telling you?"  
  
Little Harry lifted his shoulders. "Just...stories. About you and Dad and..." He hesitated. "...Professor Potter." Harry visibly flinched at the formal title. "Did you really play live game of Wizard's Chess?"  
  
"Harry." She combed her fingers through her son's messy locks. Like his father's hair, it was a lost cause and no brush, Muggle or magical, could keep it neat. "You're being very mature about this."   
  
He looked up at his mother with a solemn expression. "I'm not a child, Mum." From the pocket of his khaki pants, he withdrew a cream-colored envelope whose wax seal had been broken. "This was brought by owl while you were gone."   
  
Harry couldn't help but grinning. Not that he had been worried, but physical proof that their son was, without a doubt, a wizard was certainly something to celebrate. Hermione had already embraced little Harry again; he could just make out the shiny path of a tear on her cheek.   
  
"I'm so very proud of you," she whispered to the boy. "And you're right. You're not a child anymore. Which is why I think you'll understand this." Hermione pulled back and looked little Harry straight in the eye. "Professor Potter...your *real* father and I love each other very much."   
  
Little Harry looked back and forth between her eyes. "I know. You always have."  
  
"Hagrid told you quite a lot, I see." When their son said nothing, she continued. "I want him...Professor Potter...Harry...to feel welcome in our home whenever he's there from now on. All right? Can you make sure that happens?"   
  
"I can," the boy replied, still watching his mother carefully. "But only because Dad would have."   
  
It was a start and Harry tried to be content with it. Taking a breath, he held out his hand to his son. "Congratulations on receiving your letter, Harry. I'll never forget the day I got mine." *And the twelve thousand that followed,* he added to himself.   
  
A moment passed before the boy warily shook his father's hand. Hermione bit her lip hard enough to wince from the pain. Little Harry ended the handshake and looked up at his mother. "May we go eat now, Mum?"  
  
"Harry?" She looked at the older bearer of the name.  
  
He forced a smile. "Don't worry about me, Hermione. I'm going to go tickle the pear."   
  
It was a cryptic statement that almost anyone would have puzzled over for hours. Hermione simply returned the smile knowingly. "I'll see you tomorrow, then?" As Harry nodded, she took their son's hand. "Come on, Harry. I'll make us mince pies."   
  
Harry watched them...his little family...ascend the stairs and then disappear around a stone corner. There was a heavy weight pressing upon his chest; he wanted to be with them so badly that it hurt. But he couldn't. And he wasn't sure, after everything that had happened, that he would ever be able to.   
  
After several long minutes of indulging in his own guilt-born self-pity, he turned around started the opposite way, out the port trellis entrance and across the dark field of snow to Hagrid's hut. It was a short trek he had taken innumerable times during his school days, most of them spent underneath the protective folds of his father's Invisibility Cloak. Now, as a Professor, he had no cause to hide as he walked up to the little cottage and knocked on the door.   
  
"'arry! Yer back!" Hagrid answered the door with hot mitts on each of his huge hands, a sure sign that he was baking. Suddenly Harry was quite glad that he had lost his appetite. "Come in!"  
  
He followed the half-giant inside and closed the door for him. Hagrid was already back at the fire, lifting the cast iron lid from a huge cauldron set over the flames. Harry undid the button that held his woolen robes closed at his throat and hung the garment on the rack next to the little cottage window.   
  
"What are you making?" he asked, more out of politeness than curiosity.   
  
"Stone soup," Hagrid replied, stirring the pot's contents. "'ungry?"   
  
Harry shook his head; it was quite likely that there was nothing more in there but water and rocks. "No thank you." He took a seat in one of Hagrid's oversized chairs. "Hermione and I just got back."  
  
"So, I gath'rd." He replaced the lid and moved into the chair opposite of Harry's. "Did yer find what yer were lookin' fer in Lond'n?"   
  
"In a roundabout way," he said, looking down at his hands. It only took a few minutes to fill Hagrid in on the events that took place during his trip, although he left a few significant details out, including his night with Hermione at the Leaky Cauldron.   
  
But Hagrid wasn't fooled. "Does my 'eart good ter see yer and 'ermione 'ave patch'd thin's up bertween yer. Now, yer kin be a real fam'ly."   
  
"I don't know if I'd say that." Harry met his old friend's knowing gaze. "May I ask you something?" Hagrid indicated for him to go ahead. "Just what exactly did you tell Harry these past few days?"  
  
"Don' be worried, 'arry. I didn' tell the boy any more th'n he need'd ter know. But he 'ad ques'ions, surely. And I ans'er'd 'em, best I could." With some effort, Hagrid stood back up. "He want'd ter know 'bout yer 'n Ron."  
  
Harry watched Hagrid lift a smaller kettle from the fire and begin to set up tea for two. "About me and Ron? Do you mean...how we met, how long we were friends, that sort of thing?"  
  
"Aye." The older man strained two cups of what Harry knew would be extremely strong tea. "Seem'd ter me like he want'd ter un'erstand what made yer leave yer best friend *and* 'ermione, 'is mum." Hagrid added cream and lumps of brown sugar to their drinks.  
  
"What did you tell him?" Harry asked, accepting his huge cup of tea with two hands.  
  
Hagrid plopped back down, his chair creaking under his weight and took a thoughtful sip before answering. "I couldn' tell 'im anythin', 'arry. I don' rightly know the whole story meself."  
  
Long minutes passed as Harry pondered this and Hagrid patiently waited until he was ready to speak. Finally, the younger man set his untouched tea aside and leaned forward, elbows on his knees. "I want to believe that I left for the sole purpose of protecting her, Hagrid. But there was also part of me that wanted to...see what else was out there. Not in terms of women..." He grimaced. "Although I won't lie and say that I never touched another one during all those years. It was more the fact that all I knew was England and Hogwarts. I wanted to see what was beyond that. And with my knack for attracting danger, I presumed that the best place for me to be was well away from everyone I loved." His green eyes stared straight across at his friend. "I swear to you, Hagrid. If I had known about Harry, I would have returned in an instant."   
  
Hagrid held his tongue, unwilling to remind the Boy Who Lived that had he read any of the owls sent to him, he would have known about his child.   
  
"I blame myself, Hagrid. Every day I think...that because I've made so many mistakes...it wouldn't be unfitting if I were never afforded the opportunity to make them all up to my son." He took a breath. "But I want to. More than anything. I want to be his father."   
  
"There's one thin' yer got ter un'erstand, 'arry. Fer the boy, Ron'll always be 'is firs' father. As lon' as yer kin accept that...yer kin be part o' 'is life."   
  
Harry considered this before nodding. "I would never try to take Ron away from him."   
  
The half-giant smiled, drained half of his entire tea in one gulp and stood back up. "Yer sure yer not 'ungry?"  
  
"Just...worn out. I think I'll head back to the castle." Harry pulled himself out of the large seat and went to retrieve his cloak. "Hagrid."   
  
"Hmm?" The other man had pulled the lid off his bubbling dinner, inspecting it with a cook's keen eye.   
  
"Thank you." At his words, Hagrid turned his head to look at him. He continued, "I have to ask you for a favor. If anything should ever happen to me....would you please keep looking after them? Like you have been?"  
  
There was a pause before Hagrid bobbed his head in agreement. A moment passed between them before Harry swung his winter robes around his shoulders "Good night, Hagrid. Enjoy your supper."   
  
Hagrid lifted a ladle full of his soup out of the pot. The sharp end of a rock stuck up through the thin liquid. "'arry." The young wizard stopped with his hand on the doorknob. "Nothin' gonna 'appen ter yer. Got tha'?"  
  
He wanted nothing more than to nod, but Harry found that he couldn't make his head move. Instead, he opened the door and walked back out into the cold night, alone as he all too often was.  
  
****  
  
A month slipped by without notice. Harry wouldn't have even picked up on the passing time had the weather not begun to change. As February slowly turned into March, more and more tufts of green grass fought their way through the lingering snow, catching his eye one day as he hurried to his morning lesson with the Ravenclaw and Hufflepuff fifth years.   
  
During the weeks since their trip to London, Harry and Hermione had not purposely tried to avoid contact, but their busy schedules managed to keep them apart except for a few rare occasions at lunch in the Great Hall or House meetings in the Gryffindor common room.   
  
Letters from Sirius had been few and far between and always short. The Governor's meetings had begun, but Malfoy had yet to make any bold moves according to his godfather. Harry tried to take this as a good sign, but he couldn't help feeling that his adversary was simply waiting for the right moment to strike. The notion kept him awake many nights.   
  
The day Harry noticed the grass pushing up into the white and grey winter courtyard, Hermione woke for the fifth morning in a row feeling sicker than she could ever remember feeling. Even when she had been pregnant with little Harry.   
  
Ever since she had fainted in the Ministry, Hermione had been valiantly ignoring all the warning signs her body was giving off. The timing was just too horrible for her to be...  
  
More than that, she argued with herself as she dressed for her morning classes, it just couldn't be possible that after only being with Harry once, she had become...  
  
Again!!   
  
Her first class of that day was with the Slytherin and Gryffindor second years. She was teaching them about the formation of Hogwarts, a subject in which she was particularly knowledgeable. But even as she began the lesson, she instinctively knew she wasn't going to make it all the way through. Dizzy and nauseated, Hermione dismissed the students twenty minutes into the class.   
  
There was no one in the hallways as she stumbled for the Hospital Ward for which she was more than grateful. Madam Pompfrey was most surprised by her arrival.   
  
"Hermione? What on earth...?" The older woman helped her lie down on a cot. "Is it your stomach, dear?"  
  
Hermione wrung her hands, embarrassment washing over her in a great tidal wave. "It's a bit more than that." As she explained her symptoms, the medical witch began to catch on.   
  
She placed a hand on Hermione's lower stomach and after a moment, smiled. "I can give you a potion for the nausea, but you're going to have to be careful about taking it."  
  
"I know." Hermione looked up at the vaulted ceiling. "I've done this before." She touched her abdomen; it was just beginning to feel firmer, but it would be a long time before her figure gave away the secret. "Two months, right?"  
  
"Just about, I suspect. Although I am rusty in this particular area. It's not often that I see this in my patients." There was a long pause. "Congratulations, Hermione." She chuckled. "Harry Potter will be a wonderful father."   
  
Hermione closed her eyes. She was in no mood to celebrate. "Oh god...what have I done?"  
  
****  
  
To Be Continued 


	14. Silencing Charm

Disclaimer: JK Rowling invented; I only borrow from her. 'Cause she's got the best toys to play with.   
  
Author's Notes: Thank you for your continued support. I hope this chapter is all right. For some reason, I labored over it more than most. Have a happy and safe Thanksgiving, Americans. Everyone else...um...just be happy;)   
  
****  
  
An Organ of Fire  
by Kristen Elizabeth  
  
****  
  
Me: What do you mean I'm most compatible with Harry?! He's, like, twelve! It's illegal!!  
My friend: Livejournal quizzes never lie. Mrs. Robinson.  
  
****  
  
She had never been good at lying. Keeping secrets didn't appeal to her, but she could do it for the right reasons. But lying...she had just never learned how to do it. Even lying by omission was hard for her; she just knew that whatever it was she was trying the hardest not to say would always be blatantly obvious through her guilty face and nervous gestures.   
  
Which was why, only hours after it was confirmed that she was carrying Harry Potter's child yet again, Hermione ducked into the first doorway she could a split second after spying him at the end of a long, torch-lit Hogwarts corridor. Fortunately, he didn't notice. He was reading something she couldn't identify from a distance as he walked, and he passed by the door behind which she had hidden herself without even looking up. When Hermione could no longer hear his footsteps, she breathed a little sigh of relief.   
  
"Just what are you doing?"  
  
The voice from the shadows of what she had thought was empty classroom made her jump. She spun around putting an instinctive hand on her lower belly. "Who's there?"  
  
A lone figure came into the light. The school's potion master held a small bottle of dried spiders in one hand; he looked at her as though he had caught her dancing naked in the Great Hall. "Hiding from someone, Hermione?"  
  
It was more than disconcerting to hear Snape, her least favorite professor through all her Hogwarts years, calling her by her first name, even after almost two years of working with him. She dropped her hand from her stomach and straightened her shoulders. "Actually, I...um...I was just looking for...for my...I mean, for the..."  
  
"Forget I asked." Snape cut her off abruptly, clearly not interested any longer. He moved towards her, but stopped when she failed to step out of his way. "Do you mind? These need to be added to a potion within five minutes or I'll lose two weeks work."   
  
Hermione quickly moved to one side and allowed the older man by. After he was gone, she stumbled towards the first dusty desk she saw and sank into it. Tears welled up and it didn't take long for them to turn into full-fledged sobs. Burying her face in her arms, Hermione let herself cry.   
  
They were different tears than the ones she had shed when the Muggle doctor her parents had insisted she go see after days of exhaustion and nausea told her she was pregnant. Up until then, she had been able to blame her symptoms on being abandoned by the man she loved with all her young heart. Finding out he had left her with child had prompted many hours of tears. Tears that Ron had done his best to dry.   
  
She shook her head against the full sleeve of her crimson robe. These new tears weren't born from sorrow or shock. Now she cried at the cruel tricks her life seemed bent upon playing on her. What was it about her and Harry? It was as though all she had to do was look at him wrong and she would become pregnant. Where as with Ron...they had tried so hard for so long to have a child with nothing to show for it.   
  
It had to be some sort of magical curse, Hermione decided. There had been nothing wrong with Ron as both Muggle and magical doctors had told him. A spell or curse was the only explanation for why Harry seemed destined to be the only father of her children.   
  
The more she thought about it, the more she wondered if perhaps it was a spell she had woven upon herself without even realizing it.   
  
Hermione wiped her eyes and stood up. It was no use to dwell on that. The only thing she could do was to tell the father of her child as soon as possible. He had said more than once that he would have been around for little Harry had he known about him. And now he would get his chance to prove it.  
  
****  
  
"Please tell me this is some sort of joke." Harry slapped the current issue of The Daily Prophet, which had just arrived by anonymous owl, onto Albus Dumbledore's writing stand. The aged wizard looked up from the stack of parchment in front of him and adjusted his glasses. "This can't be happening...can it?"  
  
The worry he saw in Harry's emerald eyes was deep; Dumbledore set down his quill, pushed aside his memoirs (he was stuck on Chapter Five, his first year at Hogwarts, anyway) and picked up the newspaper to see what was bothering his former student.   
  
A bold headline announced, "Governors Put Hogwarts Professors Under Scrutiny," and a smaller, but equally disturbing line read, "Muggle-born Instructors: Are they qualified to teach your child?"   
  
"Professor," Harry began after giving the wizard ample time to read the article. "Something must be done to stop him. He can't do this. It can't be allowed!"  
  
Dumbledore lowered the newspaper. "It has often plagued my nightmares, this day." He took off his glasses with a tired sigh. "There has always been talk, Harry, regarding the qualifications for a Hogwarts professor. I've feared it would amount to something someday."  
  
"Malfoy's made it amount to something." Harry picked the inflammatory thing back up. "Going after Muggle-born students wasn't enough for him. Or at least it didn't work out as he'd expected. But this..." The edges of the paper crumpled in his grip. "This just proves how much of a bastard he truly is. He's playing on people's prejudices. And it..."  
  
"Might work," Dumbledore cut in. "There is nothing worse than a crusader with a heart of leprechaun gold."   
  
Harry frowned. "What are we going to do to stop him?"   
  
"I'm not sure there's much we can do from here, Harry. We shape the future at Hogwarts, not the present."   
  
"You've got to give me something more than that!" The younger wizard tore the newspaper directly down the middle, ripping apart a photo of some Governor's Board members entering the Ministry of Magic. "Professor, I can't be objective about this. Hermione's job, her reputation...it's all on the line here. If I can't do anything to protect her..."  
  
Dumbledore stood up; his purple robes, decorated with an exact replication of the constellations, brushed against the floor. "Write to Sirius Black, Harry."  
  
"I have. He just hasn't written back in awhile. I have a feeling it was him who sent the paper today, though."  
  
"Write to him again. Any edict from the Governor's must be unanimous."   
  
Harry nodded. "I'm sure he could sway at least one or two. Most people are still frightened of him."  
  
Dumbledore looked over his shoulder at the young man as he approached Fawkes' stand to give him a mid-day treat. "It might be better simply to ask him not to sign his own name to anything young Draco proposes."  
  
"What?" Harry blinked. "Sirius...is a Governor? He never told me that."  
  
"Imagine what you'll find out tomorrow, Harry." From the pocket of his robes, he pulled out a piece of chocolate, unwrapped it and fed it to his Phoenix. "And don't worry. Hermione is a Hogwarts professor and a powerful witch. She'll always be one of us."  
  
****  
  
"Harry. Harry? Harry!"  
  
The third time his named was called, Harry stopped in his tracks. He had just reached the portrait of Miss Belle, who was, as usual, napping in just enough undergarments as to be decent, when the sweetest voice in the world broke through his cloudy thoughts.   
  
Hermione approached him, out of breath from the jog she had been forced to break into to keep up with him. His mind was obviously elsewhere, but when he smiled at her, all was forgiven. The power of his smile hit her as it always had. Hard, fast and hot. Her hand shot to her burning cheek.   
  
"Harry," she said, breathless, but not from running. "We've got to talk."   
  
"I'm sorry, Hermione. I'd really like to." He drew her hand away from her cheek and brought it over to his lips. "It's just that I have something I must get sent off to London immediately."  
  
She bit back disappointment and the smallest bit of hurt. Harry was so smart about everything else in his life; why had he chosen that moment to become dense? "Oh. I see."  
  
"Can it wait until later?"   
  
"I...suppose it can. It's just..." Hermione closed her eyes when he kissed the tip of her index finger. "It can wait."   
  
Harry smiled again, apologetically. "At dinner then?"  
  
She shook her head. "Come to my apartments."  
  
He nodded. After a second's pause, Harry gently drew her towards him by her hand. When she was pressed up against his chest, he leaned in for a sweet kiss. For the duration of the time his lips played over hers, Hermione ceased to think at all. When he finally pulled back, she found that her hand had reached up and tangled in the thick, black locks of hair at the back of his neck.   
  
"I've missed you since we got back from London," he whispered. "Have you been all right?"  
  
Hermione leveled her gaze just past his cheek as she replied, "I've been...fine."   
  
Harry pressed a kiss onto her forehead. "I'll see you tonight, Hermione."   
  
In the confines of her gilded portrait frame, Miss Belle let out an exasperated sigh. "Is this all you two have woken me up for?"  
  
Stepping away from the woman he loved, Harry turned back around. "Marsh marigold." Miss Belle turned up her nose, but the door swung open. Hermione watched Harry enter the wide hallway and before the portrait shut again, he inclined his head at her, an intimate gesture that affected her almost as much as his smile.   
  
"Word of advice, love."   
  
Snapping out of the moment, Hermione folded her arms over her robes. "What?"  
  
Miss Belle sat back down in her chair, making sure ample cleavage peeked out over the lace of her camisole. "The longer you wait, the longer it takes." She giggled behind her hand. "I know your secret, Professor Weasley."   
  
Hermione's eyes flew open. "How on earth could you possibly know that..."  
  
"I heard it from Duchess Lavinia in the next corridor over who heard it from Lady Hawkes in the main stairwell who heard it from Nurse Primula in the Hospital Wing," Miss Belle answered, examining a nail.   
  
"Bloody hell!" Hermione cursed. "Nothing can be kept a secret with all you paintings around!" Without waiting for a reply, she stomped off, feeling quite childish. But it was a better feeling than nausea or the nagging guilt that came with having such an enormous secret. At least she would get it off her chest that night. By the time the sun went down, Harry Potter was going to know that he was to be a father...for a second time.  
  
****  
  
Hermione was at the end of her already frayed rope. Three days, a dozen chances to tell him, two close calls...but still Harry was completely in the dark. It couldn't be this impossible for everyone, she reasoned, rinsing out her mouth with tap water. She lifted her head from over the aged tile sink and blinked away hot tears. The morning sickness had faded for a few days, but had just returned with a vengeance.   
  
Other women probably had no problem breaking the news to the fathers of their children. She blotted her lips with a thin, cotton washcloth. Why was it becoming such a massive chore for her? Hermione held herself up over the sink as she thought back.   
  
Harry had come to her apartments later that first night, as promised. The setting had been perfect. All alone, in front of a roaring fire..she could have told him quickly and had it done. But she had hesitated and stumbled and before she could get anything important out, there had been a knock on the door. It had been her nephew, Bill Jr., a great kid whom even Miss Belle trusted with the password to the Professor's wing, but with the world's worst timing. He had wanted to see his cousin and Hermione couldn't refuse. After fetching little Harry, the two boys planted themselves in front of the fire to play Wizard's Chess. And Hermione had resigned herself to telling Harry the next day.  
  
The next day she came to his classroom after the final lesson period. He had seemed puzzled by her insistence that they talk immediately, but had sat down patiently to listen to her. Just as she had begun with her prepared speech, the classroom door had burst open and a group of seventh year girls rushed in, every single of one of them giggling. Harry had only had time to shoot her an apologetic look before he was pulled into a study group. The N.E.W.T.S. were starting in less than a month; he couldn't exactly deny his students the chance to prepare.   
  
Hermione put a hand on her churning stomach. Little Harry hadn't given her this much trouble and she had been even more emotionally distraught back then. It had been far easier to tell Ron...but then, he had caught her reading a book with the incriminating title, "Magical Baby: A Witches Guide to the Hardest Nine Months of Her Life." Even her everlasting quest for knowledge couldn't explain that particular tome finding its way to her nightstand. If Harry had been around back then, would it have been this difficult to tell him?  
  
She pulled herself together enough to leave the bathroom just as two Slytherin third year girls were coming in. They gave her smiles and waves, quite unlike the average Slytherin student. Hermione managed a smile and a nod to each of them, but her sole focus was still on her current problem.   
  
The delicate gold watch around her left wrist, a sixth anniversary present from Ron, told her that it was almost eleven o'clock. Harry's fourth year Ravenclaw and Gryffindor class would be letting out at any moment. If she could just get there and bar the door to prevent any twittering girls from interrupting...she just might be able to do it.  
  
Her sanity depended on it.  
  
****  
  
Few things could shock or startle Harry Potter and hearing the door to his classroom open fifteen minutes after a class had ended was certainly not one of them. Instead of turning around, he spoke as he continued to wipe the day's notes on vampires off of the blackboard. "If you have any questions about the lesson, I'll be in the Hall in a few minutes for lunch."  
  
"We need to talk."   
  
Frowning slightly, Harry set down his eraser and turned. Hermione stood at the back of his classroom, pale and solemn, her hair loose around her shoulders. "Hermione. What's wrong?"  
  
Her chocolate brown eyes were blank as she struggled for her next words. The second speech she had prepared on the way over was forgotten quickly. There was nothing to do about the tremble of her chin; she did her best to ignore it as she closed the door behind her with weak hands. "We need to talk," she repeated.   
  
"Of course, yes. I'm sorry....I know you've had something on your mind for awhile now." Harry pulled on the ties of his school robe, exposing the starched white shirt underneath. Smiling, he started through the center aisle towards her. "We're finally alone."  
  
Hermione nodded a bit too quickly. "Yes. Alone." She drew in a great breath. "Harry, the thing I need to tell you is..."   
  
She didn't even realize how bad her hands were shaking until Harry reached for them. "Hey...'Mione." He trapped her palms between his. "It's all right. I'm here."  
  
"I don't know why I'm having so much trouble..." A tear dripped down the inside of her nose; without her hands, she couldn't wipe it away. "I need to tell you that...you deserve to know about..."  
  
"Harry, are you in..." The door, which Hermione had closed, but forgotten to lock, opened swiftly. Harry had to pull Hermione out of the way before it slammed into her back. Professor McGonagall stuck her head into the room and when she spotted the couple, stepped inside completely. "Thank goodness you're here."   
  
Hermione could feel Harry's hands tighten around hers. "What's happened?"  
  
Their former teacher had a hand to the brooch at her throat and there was sheer panic on her face. "You must come quickly, Harry. Professor Dumbledore needs to speak with you immediately."   
  
Harry was torn. He looked back and forth between the two women for a moment. The tortured look Hermione gave him was simply too powerful. "Tell him I'll be there as soon as I can," he told Professor McGonagall. After a moment of studying them, she nodded and left the room, closing the door behind her.   
  
"Go ahead, Hermione," he gently urged. "Whatever it is, you can tell me."   
  
What seemed like hours passed as her gaze slipped back and forth between his matching emerald irises. She could feel his warmth, breathe in his soap and aftershave scent...if she had wanted to, she could have reached up to touch his scar, his cheek, his full bottom lip. She could have kissed him, slipped her tongue into his wet, hot mouth, claimed it as her own. There were a million things Hermione could have done in that moment.   
  
Except one.   
  
"Harry's birthday," she whispered, hardly believing the words that were coming out of her mouth in place of the ones that should have. "It's....in two weeks. March 18th. I just..." Her throat closed up. "I didn't know if you knew....and you deserve to. That's..." She shook her head. "That's all."  
  
Harry chuckled and pulled her against his solid frame. Her eyes closed, regret and self-disgust hitting her from every side. "I already know what I'm going to get him. I just hope he'll accept it." He pulled away from her and wiped away her tears. "Don't cry, love. I never imagined this would be easy for any of us." Harry shot a look at the door.   
  
She took a numb step back. "You should go see what he wants."   
  
"Are you sure? Because I can..."  
  
Hermione shook her head. "It sounds important."  
  
Harry pulled the door open, but on second thought, turned, slid his hand around the back of her neck and brought his lips down to hers for a lingering kiss. "I'll see you later."   
  
Once he was gone, Hermione let herself sink to the floor, ignoring the cold of the stone surface even through her robes. Her chin dropped to her chest.   
  
The situation had not improved.  
  
****  
  
"It's not true." Harry shook his head. "I won't believe it."   
  
Behind his desk, Dumbledore lowered his head. "What we choose to believe or disbelieve is entirely up to ourselves." He caught Professor McGonagall's eye and continued, "However I must ask you to remember that I rarely fib and almost never lie. Especially when I'm speaking to an adult. Which you are now," he reminded him.   
  
When Harry had no reply, Professor McGonagall spoke up. "Harry, I wouldn't believe it myself if I weren't looking at it in black and white. But here it is."   
  
He refused to even glance at the parchment in her hands. "There's been a mistake and it needs to be corrected before this...gets any further than this room."   
  
"Harry," she tried again.   
  
"No!" Harry slammed his fist onto the Headmaster's desk. "He wouldn't do it!"  
  
Snape stepped out of the shadows of one corner from which he had been watching the entire exchange. "If I may...this is a convicted criminal we're talking about. There's no telling what he would or wouldn't do."   
  
If Harry's eyes could have killed, the Potions master would have been dead. "You've always hated him, so I couldn't give a damn about your opinion on this!"  
  
Dumbledore stood up. "Enough. I won't have my teachers fighting each other. Not now, when we should all be united as one..." He took the letter from McGonagall. "...against this. Now, Harry, no one feels more shock than I that our friend and colleague could do this, but..."  
  
"He's the closest thing to family that I've ever had," Harry cut the wizard off. "He's a good man." His furious glare returned to Snape. "An *innocent* man. And he would never, ever support this trash. I don't care what that letter says."   
  
"There is nothing I would like more than to agree with you." Dumbledore eased back into his chair. "But the fact of the matter is simple. The Governor's have ruled and there is little that I can do about it except stand out as a voice against the hatred that propelled this decision."  
  
"Albus..." the Transfiguration professor said softly.   
  
He sighed, continuing with a heavy heart. "We should tell the affected persons soon. It won't be fair to keep it from them."   
  
Harry watched the older teachers. They were all so accepting and resigned to this outrageous letter. "Stop! All of you!!" When all eyes were on him, he continued, "You can't just shake your heads and go about firing every teacher Draco Malfoy doesn't like!! You're all giving in to him!! What's wrong with you?!"   
  
Snape folded his arms over his black robes. "We're not giving in anymore than your own dear god..."   
  
"Severus," Dumbledore warned. "Harry. He has made his choice. A choice that, right or wrong, was his to make. You can deny it; that is also your right. But you can't ignore his name on this piece of paper." He held it up to the Boy Who Lived. For the first time, Harry forced himself to look at it.   
  
Twelve names. The most infamous and prestigious witches and wizards in England. All unanimous in their decision to weed out certain Hogwarts professors. Specifically those with non-magical families.   
  
Specifically, Harry thought, balling up his fists, the woman he loved.   
  
Twelve names. And halfway down the list, in hasty cursive, one signature stood out from the others.   
  
Sirius Black.   
  
****  
  
To Be Continued 


	15. Veritaserum

Disclaimer: The usual stuff about things not belonging to me.  
  
Author's Notes: I apologize for the delay. FF.net saw fit to punish me like a bad four-year old when someone out there reported two of my stories for having "indecent" content. Notice the steam still escaping from my ears? Anyways, I'm glad to be able to post again. For further information on my future with FF.net, please see my author bio. I hope you enjoy this chapter. I enjoyed writing it:)   
  
****  
  
An Organ of Fire  
by Kristen Elizabeth  
  
****  
  
"Wait a moment, Potter."  
  
Harry came to a stop in the open-air corridor that ran around the center courtyard. He was not in the mood to talk to anyone; the entire point of storming out of Dumbledore's office had been to get away from everyone. His entire body was taught with anger as he turned around to confront the man who had followed him out. "What do you want?"  
  
Snape folded his arms over his black robes. "Listen. It doesn't take a genius to figure out that something's wrong here. Regardless of how I personally feel about Sirius Black..."  
  
"You mean, regardless of how much you despise him!"  
  
The Potions master ignored the interruption. "Regardless," he continued, "I do not think for a moment that he would ever align himself with..."  
  
"Draco Malfoy. The pride and joy of your House," Harry spat out, his lip curling up.   
  
"Has it not dawned on you, Potter, that there might be a plot at work, of which Sirius Black is the...innocent victim?" It took much effort for Snape to connect the words "innocent victim" with his childhood enemy.   
  
After what seemed like an eternity of staring his old teacher down, Harry let his shoulders relax. "Of course it occurred to me," he said, his words softer than he had intended them to be. "It's just..."   
  
"Just what?" Snape asked after a moment. The hard edge that was forever present in his voice briefly faded.   
  
"His handwriting." The younger boy looked away, desperate to keep any signs of weakness at bay in front of Snape. "It was...Sirius. I know his handwriting." His brow molded into a frown. "Don't you think the first thing I thought of was Polyjuice? But...it's not someone else taking his place."   
  
At an apparent loss for words, Snape rubbed his sallow forehead. "There are other ways that..."  
  
"Malfoy could be exploiting my godfather? Yes, there are. The problem is..." Harry shook his head. "I have no way to stop him." He continued, amazed at how free his speech felt around one of his least favorite people in the world. "I'm eleven years old again...and I can't figure out how to fight back."   
  
Snape stared at Harry for a moment. "That's never stopped you before."   
  
"I had the entire wizarding community behind me when I faced Voldemort. This time...Malfoy has them on his side."  
  
"So, are you just going to give..."  
  
"Harry!"   
  
Both men looked down the corridor; Hermione was heading for them, a worried look on her pale face. Harry frowned. When was the last time he had seen color on Hermione's cheeks? Weeks, at least.   
  
"Harry..." She stopped a few feet away from them, filling the air with the delicate scent of roses. "Is everything all right? What did Dumbledore..." Her question trailed off when Harry and Snape both quickly averted their gazes from her. "What's wrong?"  
  
Snape shot an expectant look towards the younger man. "You should be the one to tell her."  
  
"Tell me what?"   
  
Harry couldn't bring himself to meet her eyes. Perhaps it was cowardice on his part, but he just didn't think he could bear to see shock and hurt on the face of the woman he loved, put there by news from his mouth. Instead, he looked at the stone floor as he began to speak.   
  
"Hermione...it's been decided...the Governors..." He lifted one shoulder to rub the underside of his jaw. "They're calling...for the removal of all...Muggle-born instructors. At Hogwarts."   
  
A long time passed before Hermione responded with a soft, "Oh. I see."  
  
Finally able to lift his eyes, Harry looked at her. Her efforts to mask her wounded expression weren't succeeding. "I'm sorry." He shook his head. "I couldn't stop it."  
  
"Harry." Her soft, cool fingers cupped his chin. "It's not your fault."   
  
Snape cleared his throat. "If you'll both excuse me..." He lifted an eyebrow at Harry. "When you're ready to really discuss this, you know where to find me."  
  
Hermione watched the older man as he swept off towards the center of the castle. "What could you possibly have to discuss with him that's so serious?"   
  
"Nothing."  
  
"Liar," she said quietly. "If you're keeping secrets again to protect me..."  
  
Harry drew her fingers away from his skin. He didn't deserve her touch. "Protect you? When have I ever successfully protected you, Hermione? Did I keep you from getting hurt on Halloween? Was I there to hold your hand when you had our child? No, Hermione. For all the ways I've hurt you in the name of your protection, I certainly haven't given you much. And now, with this...once again, I've failed to..."  
  
"Harry, please stop doing this to your..."  
  
"I have to be honest with myself." He backed away from her. "I'm poison, Hermione."  
  
She put her hands on her hips. "All right, now you're just being dramatic."  
  
"Don't I wish." After a second, Harry continued. "People who love me get hurt, Hermione. That's just part of being Harry Potter. For you...it's part of being anywhere near Harry Potter."  
  
"And yet, despite this...although your point has little to no validity...I'm still standing here." Hermione walked forward, closing up the space he had put between them. "I think I just lost my job, Harry. I can live with that. What I can't live without is you. Especially now."   
  
Harry closed his eyes when she slipped her arms around his torso and rested her cheek against his chest. "I'm sorry," he repeated. With his eyes still closed, he pried her away from his body and turned around. "We can talk later. I just...need some air." Before he started off, he whispered. "I do love you."  
  
"Harry! Please don't walk away from me!" When he failed to stop or even falter, Hermione pressed one hand to her lower abdomen. "Please...I need...to tell you something."  
  
He didn't hear her. But even if he had, the odds were he wouldn't have stopped.  
  
****  
  
Harry was hovering a hundred feet off the ground before he realized how completely selfish he had behaved. He had been sitting on his Firebolt for nearly an hour, just letting the cool afternoon breeze turn into a cold night gale. Flying was one of his favorite things in the world to do. But now, he was taking no pleasure in the freeing sensation of being alone in the sky.   
  
"Bastard," he whispered to himself. "She'd have every right to never speak to you again."   
  
Going overboard into his own guilt had been nothing short of horrifically self-centered. Hermione was the one who had been stripped of her job as though she were unworthy of it. She was the one hurting. Yet he had managed to make it all about himself, not to mention the fact that he had abandoned her when she needed him probably the most.   
  
His fingers tightened around the slick handle of his broomstick. Without even making the conscious choice to do so, Harry guided it towards the dark ground below. When his feet touched back down, he swung one leg off the broom and started to run towards the torch-lit castle entrance.   
  
He didn't stop until he reached Miss Belle's portrait. The nineteenth century beauty opened her mouth to speak, but Harry cut her off with an abrupt, "Water hemlock."  
  
Bypassing his own room, his Firebolt still in his hands, Harry stopped in front of the door to Hermione's apartments. He knocked once, then twice. "Hermione!"   
  
Harry had raised his hand to knock for a third time when the door opened a bit. "Hermione," he began again. "I need to apologize for..." He blinked. Visible in the crack between the oak and stone was not his lover, but the product of their love. Little Harry looked up at him with unblinking green eyes. "Harry..." the older bearer of the name began.  
  
"Mum's asleep, Professor Potter." The boy pushed the door open even further. "You may come in though. If you like."   
  
"Er...thank you." Harry stepped inside and set his broomstick up against the wall. Little Harry was already walking back to the fireplace and the couch set in front of it. Harry followed him. Hermione was sleeping in front of the fire; her cheek rested on one arm and the other was tucked around her stomach. He watched the gentle swell of her breast expand and contract; her lovely face was peaceful now, rosy in the fire's light.   
  
"Did you and Mum have a fight?" Little Harry perched himself on the arm of the couch, his stare still boring into Harry.   
  
"Not exactly," he replied, his voice hoarse.   
  
His son had no visible reaction to this. "She came in crying. She's been crying a lot lately. Like she did when Dad died."   
  
Harry swallowed. "Something happened today." He let out a breath; how did he go about explaining such things as prejudice and cruelty? He had learned the hatred that people were capable of through experience, not theory. "Some people are trying to take your mother's job away from her. They have been for awhile. And today....they might have finally succeeded."  
  
"I know," Little Harry pointed to the fireplace. A corner of newspaper had yet to catch fire; Harry could clearly read the Daily Prophet's header on it. "That arrived before Mum got back from her lessons." He finally blinked. "But that isn't why she cries."   
  
"Then...what is it?" Harry asked, almost afraid to do so. What else could be making Hermione unhappy? Was he doing something more than just being selfish?   
  
The boy slid off the couch's arm and approached Harry. He was barely as tall as the center point of Harry's chest, but he looked up at his biological father as though they were equals. Without any drama or hesitation, little Harry spoke. "Mum is going to have another baby."  
  
Harry reached for the first thing he could, the high back of a chair. He clutched at it for support, his knuckles turning only a shade whiter than his face. "What?" he managed to reply. "How..." Harry shook his head. "I mean...how do you...why do you think that...?"  
  
"Dad told me."   
  
The simple reply was almost enough to knock out what was left of Harry's ability to stand up. His mind reeling, he tried to focus on his son. "Ron told you..."  
  
"I had a dream," little Harry calmly interjected.  
  
"...that Hermione is...pregnant?"   
  
The boy nodded. "Dad told me to take care of her. He said you'd need my help."   
  
Harry stared at him. "Your mother...hasn't told me anything about...a baby." Nowhere near recovered, but with the initial shock passing, Harry let go of the chair. His eyes locked with his son's. "It could have just been a dream, Harry."  
  
"Yes," he replied. "It could have been."  
  
"It's only natural. I've seen him in my dreams, too." Harry inhaled. "We still want him to be with us."  
  
"No. It was real."   
  
Hermione shifted on the couch just then, breaking the silence that followed. Little Harry looked back at his mother; her arm never moved from its protective curve around her belly. "Dad says you and Mum belong together. And that I'm going to have a sister."  
  
The conversation had his skin crawling. Not only was he still reeling from the shock, but now his own son was talking like Professor Trelawney and it was really, to put it like a Muggle would, wigging him out. "Harry..." He bent over until he was at his son's level. "I'll believe you if you tell me that *you* really believe it wasn't just an ordinary dream."  
  
"Do you want it to just be a dream?"  
  
Harry's gaze darted to Hermione. Something akin to panic clutched his throat. Having another baby with Hermione...there were few concepts that sounded sweeter. But the timing couldn't have been worse. If it was true and Malfoy found out...  
  
"That's a hard question to answer," he replied, truthfully.  
  
The boy nodded slowly. "Don't worry, Professor. I won't tell Mum anything about this."   
  
Harry straightened up. He tried to lick his lips, but his mouth had gone completely dry in the endless minutes of their conversation. "I won't say anything to her either."   
  
"Dad was never good at secrets," the boy said. "I hope you're better." There was a long pause. "Professor...I want to invite you to my birthday party. It's next weekend at my Grandfather Arthur and Grandma Molly's house."  
  
"The Burrow." Harry smiled softly. "You've talked to your mother about it? About me coming?"  
  
His son shook his rusty head. "But she won't say no. It's my birthday, after all."   
  
Harry's own head throbbed from the day's events, especially those since he had stepped into Hermione's apartment. Still, he managed to nod his acceptance. "I'm looking forward to it."   
  
The boy smiled for the first time. "Dad was right. It's a lot of work to try and hate you. Too much work." Before Harry could reply, his son ran for the stairs. "Goodnight, Professor."   
  
Left alone with the unpleasant feeling of imagining Ron hating him, Harry walked over to the couch and knelt next to Hermione. "Are you really, Hermione?" he whispered. "Do you even know yet...if you are?"  
  
Hermione's forehead crinkled; whatever she was seeing in her dreams was perplexing her. Harry extracted one hand from his robes and ran his thumb over her brow, soothing away the frustration. "Either way...I'll be here with you. I swear."   
  
He could hear running water upstairs as their son presumably washed up before bed. Harry looked at the stairs for a long moment. "Of all the things I've imagined passing on to my children, my dreams were never one of them." He scratched the top of his head. "Do you know if he has Sight? Real Sight? And would you tell me even if you did?"   
  
A long minute passed; at the end of it, Harry leaned forward and pressed a kiss against Hermione's warm cheek before standing up. He left her sleeping what he hoped was a peaceful slumber in front of the crackling fire. It would be hours before his own dreams crept upon him. But when he woke the next day, he could remember nothing of them.   
  
****  
  
After Hogwarts, the Burrow was Harry's second home. In fact, besides the castle itself, there was no place on Earth where Harry had ever felt more comfortable or more loved than in Arthur and Molly Weasley's haphazard house. It was up to this magically intact place that Harry, Hermione and their son now walked, having traveled by Floo Network to London, stopping in Diagon Alley only long enough to pick up a few things, and then by Muggle car to Ottery St. Catchpole.   
  
Harry looked up at the house, clutching the bottle of French wine he had purchased for Ron's father a little bit tighter than necessary. He hadn't been inside the Weasley home since the summer before his final year at Hogwarts. He and Ron and Hermione had spent the last few weeks of their vacation at the Burrow, as they often had throughout their schooling. Happy days, he thought to himself. The threat of Voldemort had been a constant thought in the back of everyone's minds, but they had still managed to have a wonderful time together.   
  
He was shaken out of his memories by the sound of the front door opening. They were still many yards away from the house; Harry had parked the car off the side of the lane that led up to it as not to draw too much attention to their arrival. He squinted a bit in the bright mid-morning sunlight, only to see Ron's mother standing on the stoop, waving at them with one plump, flour-dusted arm.   
  
"Everyone!" she cried out, obviously calling to her family still inside. "They're..." Molly's voice trailed off as she apparently noticed who was beside her daughter-in-law and grandson. She moved her hand up to her mouth.   
  
Hermione glanced over at Harry. His ears were turning pink, a sure sign, even more certain than his hesitation as they walked towards the house, that he was nervous about seeing Ron's family after so many years. Taking pity on him, she reached for his free hand with hers. "They've missed you," she quietly told him.   
  
Harry didn't get a chance to reply; Ron's mother was already out of the house, running towards them as fast as she could. "Harry, dear!" For a moment, he wasn't sure which Harry she was referring to, but she answered the question for him when she pulled him into a maternal embrace.   
  
"Bill Jr. told us you were his teacher, but I only hoped it was true," Molly said between tears. "Welcome home, Harry."   
  
He could feel his own throat closing up. He had no memories of his own mother, save for the images he had seen of her in pictures, his dreams, and the Mirror of Erised. His aunt had been like a prison guard and he hadn't spoken to her in almost eleven years. So Molly Weasley was the first and only real mother figure Harry had ever known. When she pulled back a moment later, Harry could feel his own tears forming, hot and stinging behind his nose. "Thank you," was all he could manage to say.   
  
It seemed to be enough for Ron's mother. Wiping her eyes with the corner of her apron, she turned her attention to her grandson. "Do you ever stop growing, love? You're just like your father was at your age." Her voice faltered at the mention of her lost son as she held out her arms. Little Harry went straight to them for a round of hugs and kisses.   
  
Harry shot a look at Hermione. She looked away, eternally grateful for the sudden appearance of George, Fred and Ginny. "Hello!" she called out to them. "We made it!"  
  
One of the twins, Fred, Harry guessed, lifted a red eyebrow. "And you've brought along a surprise."   
  
"Hello, Harry!" George held out his hand. When Harry hesitated, he laughed. "I swear, I haven't done anything to it."   
  
Ginny rolled her eyes. "Don't believe him, Harry. He and Fred have been working on an invisible gadget that gives you quite a nasty shock. Trust me; I know." She approached Harry and gave him a quick hug. "It's good to see you again."  
  
She had shown signs of becoming a great beauty when he had left. Although she paled beside Hermione as far as he was concerned, he couldn't deny that Ron's little sister was stunning.   
  
It was then that Harry realized the youngest Weasley was also pregnant, probably six or seven months so. He blinked as the glint of a diamond on her left hand reassured him that she had happily settled down with someone. He was sure to hear all about it later. But right then, all he could think about was Hermione and the possibility that she might be in the same condition as Ron's sister.   
  
Harry studied Hermione, even as he shook hands with Fred and politely avoided doing so with George. If she was, she either didn't know or was keeping it from him. He brushed off the second possibility; Hermione believed in telling the truth too much to do so. Either she wasn't aware of it...or little Harry was simply wrong.  
  
Another man joined them from inside the house, Ginny's husband, Harry soon learned. He was a Muggle whom Ginny had met on vacation in Ireland. Harry could only imagine the time the man, whose name was Ryan McGahern, must have endured upon meeting Ginny's family. But he seemed to have adjusted very well to the wizarding world.   
  
"Come on, everyone." Molly had her arm around Hermione as she addressed her family. "Let's get inside for a spot of tea. Arthur and the rest won't arrive until nearly dinner time..." Fred had lifted little Harry into the air and slung him over George's shoulder; the boy laughed and kicked to be let down, even as Ginny walked behind her older brother, trying to deposit a kiss on her nephew's upside-down cheek. "Oh, George, let the poor child down. He's not a baby anymore." She shook her head at her twins, the long-standing source of her headaches.   
  
Harry hung back for a moment as the rest of them walked ahead. Ginny was now sandwiched in between Hermione and Ryan; they each had one of her arms as if she needed help getting up the stairs into the house. She was shaking her head at both of them.   
  
This was Ron's home; these people were Ron's family. He was not a part of it anymore. As he sat down to tea around the long kitchen table a few minutes later, Harry couldn't shake the feeling that he was intruding. Even Hermione's hand discreetly slipping into his underneath the checkered tablecloth wasn't enough to reassure him.   
  
He sipped his tea and ate all the scones Molly placed in front of him. At the other end of the table, little Harry was downing a mug of milk, listening to his uncles talk about their latest inventions with rapt attention. Tea was officially drawing to a close; Harry forced a smile and stood up from the table. "Mrs. Weasley..." he began.  
  
"For heaven's sake, child. Call me Molly." She winked at Harry over her teacup.   
  
He nodded. "If you'll excuse me."   
  
Molly watched him head towards the bathroom. "Hermione," she asked when he was out of sight. Her daughter-in-law looked up from the clotted cream she was spreading onto a scone. "Are you keeping an eye on Harry? He's not looking well a'tall."   
  
The hand holding her knife trembled. "I'm trying to. I think he's just...a bit overwhelmed."  
  
George drained his tea. "He didn't know about Ron when he came back, did he?" Hermione shook her head. "Eh...we tried getting him the message, Sis. Just couldn't reach him."   
  
She smiled at Ron's burly brother. "It wasn't just you who couldn't." Hermione set down her knife and stood. "I'll check on him, Mother."   
  
Not even wanting to know what was discussed after she left, Hermione started up the stairs to the first landing. Harry was standing in the crooked hallway that led to the master bedroom. The walls were entirely lined, almost floor to ceiling, with pictures of the Weasley family. It was sometimes disconcerting to walk down the hall if you weren't accustomed to hundreds of red-heads smiling and laughing and watching you.   
  
Harry had stopped in front of one particular picture. Hermione didn't have to wonder which; she had often found herself at the exact same spot, staring at the exact same image. She had considered asking Ron's mother for a copy of the picture, but had never gotten around to it.   
  
She came up just behind Harry. "I remember that day as though it was yesterday."  
  
"Me too." He reached out to touch the framed picture of himself with Ron and Hermione out in the garden of the Weasley home. Taken in the final days of their final vacation together, the sun was actually out and shining on them, turning Ron's hair into burning flames, Hermione's into rich honey and Harry's into black silk. The informidable trio were piled onto a wrought-iron bench that was only meant for two. As a result, Hermione was practically sitting on Harry's lap; her arms were around each of her friend's shoulders for support.   
  
Harry watched himself laughing. "I feel like I'm caught in the same cycle as this picture."   
  
"What do you mean?" Hermione touched his arm. "Harry...what does that mean?"  
  
He blinked. "Like I can't move forward. I can only keep looking back, over and over again."   
  
A few seconds of silence followed, broken only by the sounds of laughter from the kitchen. "You are moving forward, Harry. You've come a long way, even since the beginning of the term. I mean...take us for an example. We've managed to overcome the past and..."  
  
"Are you pregnant?" He cut her off, sharp and quick.   
  
Hermione drew in a breath. "Yes," she replied, scarcely believing the ease with which the response poured forth. "I am."   
  
Harry turned around. "Have you had a reason for keeping it from me?"  
  
"Nothing beyond bad timing." Hermione looked up at him. "I'm sorry, Harry. I didn't...plan very well. I should have...taken a potion or something. I wasn't thinking that night. Or if I was, it was only about how much I needed you." When he remained silent, she continued, "In a way, I'm glad you put it all together for yourself. I wasn't having much luck breaking the news on my own. Not even in this last week. I suppose I've been too busy worrying about my job and Harry's birthday..." She took another breath. "Harry, please say something. I need to know that you're all right with this. Because if you're not...I'll certainly understand, but I..."   
  
Harry cut her off again, but this time he did so by covering her mouth with his for a hot kiss. Hermione's eyes flew open; when he pulled back, she found herself unable to say anything.   
  
"I'm going to do it right this time, Hermione," he swore. "I know I can't ever make up for not being there for Harry, but this baby..." Harry smiled broadly. "I promise you my best."  
  
Hermione bit the inside of her cheek. It was the words she had always wanted to hear from him. Why, then, wasn't she happier? "I know, Harry." She forced a smile. "I believe you."   
  
It was an awkward place to end the conversation, but neither Harry nor Hermione were sure of what else to say. It was unspokenly agreed that it would be best to keep the news to themselves for awhile; for Harry, it was a matter of their enemies finding out. For Hermione, it was a matter of their family, specifically the family downstairs who still truly believed that a piece of their beloved Ron lived on in little Harry, learning that it had all been a lie.   
  
Much later, as he sat in the living room listening to Fred and George fill him in on the sales figures of the year from Weasley's Wizard Wheezes, Harry realized something frightening. Hermione was pregnant. Harry's dream had been accurate.   
  
His son had gotten more than just his green eyes. Harry stared blankly at the page in a thick account book that George was gesturing to with much excitement. Draco Malfoy could never find out how much alike he and little Harry were. His son's life depended upon it.   
  
Because, as Voldemort had come after him, Draco would not hesitate to come after his own child. Harry closed his eyes. His life really was like a picture. Moving, but never changing.   
  
****  
  
To Be Continued 


	16. Accio

Disclaimer: Since I haven't become JK Rowling despite my every attempt to create Polyjuice potion, I don't own these characters or this world in which I write;)  
  
Author's Notes: Thank you for all the kind reviews. I'm glad to see people are still enjoying! Yay, it makes me very, very happy! Hehehe. I graduate from college the day after tomorrow, so it'll be a few more days after that before you should expect another chapter. Just to warn ya:) Take care and enjoy!  
  
****  
  
An Organ of Fire  
by Kristen Elizabeth  
  
****  
  
"Xander character: And that's why I don't like those Potter books. Maybe if I was ten years younger and less of a battle-scarred veteran of the supernatural wars...  
  
Buffy character: But you saw the movie three times!" -excerpt from the Buffy the Vampire Slayer Roleplaying Game rulebook  
  
****  
  
Little Harry's birthday dinner was nothing short of a feast. With Ginny, Hermione and Ryan's help (he couldn't use magic, but he chopped vegetables so fast that it really didn't matter), Molly prepared a massive feast for her grandson, including all of his favorite dishes. Harry took note of them for future reference. Roast breast of lamb with stuffing and mashed potatoes, thick, creamy tomato soup, and golden bread and butter pudding for dessert. A rich trifle was also prepared for the twins who apparently didn't care for the pudding.   
  
The sun had set and dinner was almost on the table when Arthur, Percy, with his wife, Penelope, and Bill all Apparated into the Burrow from their jobs at the Ministry and Gringotts. Although they were all duly shocked to see Harry Potter again, he received nothing but warm handshakes and welcomes from each of them.   
  
Over dinner, Harry was filled in on the ten years of Weasley history he had missed. Bill had been married and then divorced; he had two children, Bill Jr. at Hogwarts and another son named Robert, three years younger who was currently spending his half-year with his mother in the Cotswalds. Bill had moved five years earlier to the main Diagon Alley branch of Gringotts to be closer to his family.   
  
Charlie, however, still worked with his beloved dragons in Romania. He had settled down with a younger witch who had gone to Durmstrang with Viktor Krum. They had a daughter named Galina several years younger than little Harry.   
  
Percy had married his Hogwarts sweetheart, Penelope Clearwater, but they had yet to have any children as his career with the Department of International Magical Cooperation and her job with the Committee on Experimental Charms kept them both very busy. This was prime source material for the twins; the good-natured jibes about Percy getting on the ball went on well into the main course, and were only silenced by Ginny reminding the pair that neither of them had so much as a steady girlfriend. They countered with an air of indignation; they were both just very choosy.   
  
Inevitably though, the conversation turned to the recent events in the wizarding world. As Molly pulled the pudding out of the oven and retrieved the trifle from the icebox, Arthur yanked his napkin out of the collar of his shirt and looked at his daughter-in-law. "I'm so sorry about the Governor's decree, Hermione." He lifted his shoulders. "There wasn't anything we could do about it."   
  
"And we tried," Penelope spoke up. "It's just..."  
  
"Malfoy's got too much power now." Bill carried a handful of dishes over to the sink. "He's a real little bastard, isn't he?"  
  
Ginny rubbed her swollen stomach. "He always has been."   
  
Hermione squeezed her father-in-law's hand when he reached for hers. "Thank you all." She winked at her son. "But we're going to be just fine. I get to finish out the year and if things don't change after that...well, I don't know, but I'm sure I can find some sort of work."  
  
"You'd always be welcome at The Daily Prophet," Ginny said, passing bowls of trifle to the twins.  
  
"Gringotts is looking for a witch or wizard to work public relations," Bill offered.  
  
Fred spoke around a mouthful of cream and strawberries. "You could work for us, Sis. I mean, with us, of course." Hermione smiled gratefully.  
  
Molly scowled as served her pudding. "If I had my way, all those bloody Governors would..." She stopped, keeping her tongue in check.   
  
Harry cleared his throat. "Mr. Weasley..."  
  
"Arthur, Harry."   
  
"Were you there...when the Governors signed it?"   
  
Ron's father waited until his wife had set down a large bowl of pudding in front of him to reply. "We'll talk later, Harry. Right now, I think we should just enjoy this wonderful dessert." He scooped up a large bite. "Happy birthday...smaller Harry." There was laughter at this; little Harry grinned and dug into his own portion of the pudding with gusto.  
  
After dessert came presents; since they would be back at Hogwarts for little Harry's actual birthday, everyone was eager to give him his gifts now. Harry watched him open knitted sweaters, model figurines and trick candies. Penelope and Percy Disapparated back to their own cottage just outside of London, but not until after giving little Harry a lovely set of wizarding encyclopedias.  
  
Fred and George joined their nephew on the floor after all his presents were unwrapped; they began to teach him how to play a new game they had invented. Harry wasn't sure what it was all about, only that occasionally there would be a lot of sparks and noise and Molly Weasley would jump two feet in the air, cursing the forty-eight hours she had spent in labor with the twins.   
  
With Hermione occupied in the kitchen trying to convince Ryan that it was far easier to cast a spell than to wash the dishes by hand, Harry wandered out the back of the house and into the gardens. The air, though still cool, carried the fresh scent of barely blooming honeysuckle and lavender. He took a deep breath. Of all the things he loved about the Burrow, the smells were one of the biggest.   
  
"Thought I might find you out here."   
  
Harry turned to smile at Ron's father in the dim light. "And so you have."   
  
Arthur shook his head; his hair was thinner now after ten years, with a sprinkle of white through the red. Salt and paprika, Harry thought. "Seeing you here again...it's almost like having Ron back." He took a breath and let it out slowly. "I half expected to come out and find the two of you talking."  
  
"I see him every time I round a corner in there." Harry gestured back to the house.   
  
"Come and sit down, Harry." Arthur gestured to a lawn table and chairs. When they were both seated, he took out his wand. "Lumio." A ball of light formed over their heads. Moments passed. "To answer your earlier question, Harry, yes, I was there when the Governors came to their...bloody decision." His last few words were harsh. "Not being one myself...my opinion counted for very little." He paused to scratch his chin. "I gave up my Governor's seat when Ron died. Lost the heart for it, I suppose you could say. Figured I'd spend more time at home. I can't express to you how much I regret that now. To think that I could have stopped this..."   
  
Harry held his tongue. He didn't need to tell Ron's father how glad he was that he hadn't been in a position to receive any of Malfoy's manipulations.   
  
"I still believe that Dumbledore will find a way to overturn this," Arthur nodded. "He's not about to let Lucius Malfoy's son tell him how to run his school."  
  
"What I don't understand is why everyone's so willing to go along with Malfoy." Harry leaned forward. "For one thing, he's my age. For another, his father was a well-known Deatheater. The apple doesn't fall too far from the tree. Beyond that...so many witches and wizards are Muggle-born. This blatant anti-Muggle sentiment can't sit too well with them."   
  
Arthur pulled a pipe out of his robes, but rather than fill and light it, he simply held it, using it to make gestures as he spoke. Like a Muggle would. "Harry, when you defeated You-Know-Who, you put an end to nearly twenty years of terror. See....I still can't even bring myself to say his name." He heaved a sigh. "Even after your parents' death, he was still a lingering presence. Then, when he returned, we were all united against him."  
  
Harry nodded. "I remember."   
  
"He was the deadliest force to ever rear its head in our world. You gave us freedom from that." He chewed on the well-worn tip of the pipe for a moment. "Inadvertently, you also created a false sense of security. Harry, no one believes anything as bad as You-Know....Vo...Vold...*Voldemort* could ever rise up again. They don't believe they would ever let it happen. And they don't realize that it already has. Right under their noses."  
  
"Malfoy's taking full advantage of that then." Harry shook his head in utter disgust and mounting anger. "And he's done something to my godfather to make him..." He stopped short.   
  
Ron's father pulled the pipe out of the corner of his mouth. "I was wondering when we'd get around to him. You know then...about him signing the..."  
  
"Yes," Harry quickly said. "And I don't believe for a minute that it's really him. Malfoy's done something to him and when I find out what it is...." His fist balled up. "Malfoy's kind has wrecked my family enough."  
  
"Just..." Arthur hesitated.   
  
"Just what? Sir."  
  
He frowned and stuck the pipe back between his lips. "Be careful, Harry. As often as things aren't what they seem to be, they are."   
  
"You don't really think that he's capable of..."   
  
Arthur shook his head. "Perhaps I should have phrased that better." He thought for a moment, then shook his head again. "I've lost my train of thought. Happens more and more these days. Ever since..." Ron's father trailed off.  
  
Harry looked down at his lap. "I'm sorry I wasn't here when he...when it happened."   
  
"It's not your fault, Harry." The older man sniffed. "You were the best friend my boy ever had. And I appreciate that more than you'll ever know." He looked up at the sky; the stars were clearly visible. "There's nothing harder in this world than losing a child, Harry. The years we had with Ron...well, we were blessed. I wouldn't give them up for all the money in the world. Having the little Harry now..." Arthur cleared his throat, smiling proudly. "I'm sure you've noticed how much he takes after Ron."  
  
"I've noticed," Harry replied quietly.   
  
"What are you two talking about so intently out here?" He looked up to see Ginny approaching them, a shawl wrapped around her slender shoulders. Her hands rested on her expanded waistline. "Can I assume it's not the weather?"   
  
Harry pulled out a seat for Ron's sister and helped her sit. "Have I told you how great you look, Ginny?"  
  
"Sure, you say that now when my ankles are swollen and I look rather like a blimp," she laughed. "I don't remember getting tossed any such compliments when I was a tiny little sixteen year old." The look on his face only made her laugh harder. "Oh, don't fret, Harry. I was only joking."   
  
He had to smile. "Ginny...I swear."   
  
Arthur reached over to ruffle his only daughter's red locks. "You can guess what we're talking about, love. You're the smart one out of the lot." Pride sparkled in his eyes. "Daily Prophet's best reporter, she is," he informed Harry.   
  
"I don't know about that, Dad, but the reporter part is true enough." She gave Harry a sympathetic smile. "It's a bad bit, what's going on. Frustrating as all get out to only be able to report it and not directly affect it. Sometimes it's all I can do to make my articles objective. Maybe I should switch to the editorial department; then I could say what's on my mind, instead of just reporting..."  
  
Harry interrupted her. "Anyone can write in an editorial, yes?"  
  
"Of course." Ginny blinked. "Why? Are you planning to..."  
  
"If people are going to be blind, the least I can do is try to open their eyes."   
  
Arthur grimaced. "Just...tread carefully, Harry. You never know what...."  
  
"Arthur!!" Molly's voice drifted out from the house.   
  
"Duty calls." He stood up, kissed his daughter's forehead and patted Harry on the shoulder. "Good to have you back, boy."  
  
"Thank you for having me, sir," Harry called back before the man disappeared into his house. "What do you say, Ginny? Think I could scare Malfoy into faltering if I reminded the whole of Britain just what kind of people he comes from?"   
  
She studied him for a minute. "I think you're the best person to do it, Harry. And if you need my help...I'm on board."   
  
"Well, I'll need to make sure it actually makes it into the paper. And..." He pulled at his ear. "I'm not the world's greatest writer. I'll need loads of grammar help."   
  
"You could always ask for Hermione's help with that," she replied. "The two of you seem...close." Harry started to speak, but it was her turn to cut him off. "She took Ron's death terribly hard, Harry. If you're the reason she can laugh now, you have all of my blessings." Ginny held out her hand. "Help me up?" He took her arm and offered leverage until she was back on her feet. "I don't know how my mother did this six times."   
  
Harry smiled. "She's just a bloody amazing woman."   
  
"She is," Ginny nodded. On impulse, she planted a kiss on Harry's cheek. "I'm glad you're here, Harry. Ron would be, too."   
  
They re-entered the house a minute later. Hermione and Ryan were just finishing the dishes, or rather, her spell had worked and he was applauding it. She looked at Harry and smiled shyly. Harry followed her gaze as it moved to the opposite side of the house.   
  
He might have been on the edge of eleven years old and he might have been a young wizard about to enter his training, but little Harry was also still a child. Worn out from the day of travel, family, food and excitement, he had let himself fall asleep curled up next to his grandmother. Arthur sat on the other side of little Harry's body, still chewing on the end of his pipe. His arm was draped over the back of the sofa and his hand rested on Molly's plump shoulder.   
  
"Picture perfect," Harry said to himself. He looked back at the kitchen; Ryan had pulled out a flask of Irish whiskey. The twins and Bill were at their brother-in-law's side within seconds, but both Ginny and Hermione refused.   
  
"Harry?" Ginny's husband held up a glass with an inch of amber liquid inside. "You indulging, mate?"  
  
He accepted the drink and took a deep sip. It helped wash down the ever-present lump in his throat.   
  
****  
  
There was rectangular outline on the ceiling over the bed in which Harry slept that night. It took him a few minutes, mostly because he couldn't see it very well, but then he realized what it was from. One of Ron's posters had hung over his bed for probably years, and once removed, left a chunk of whiter space behind.   
  
It had to be well after three in the morning, hours since he had shrugged off a third round of drinks with Ron's brothers and headed up the five flights of stairs to what had been his best friend's childhood bedroom.   
  
It was nothing short of odd sleeping in Ron's old room, mostly because it was so silent. There was no soft snoring, no scratching from Pig's cage, nothing, save for the sound of the sheets as he tossed and turned, seraching for sleep.   
  
"Shouldn't have had that last shot," he grumbled to himself.   
  
"Probably not."   
  
Harry sat up in bed, ignoring the fact that he had neglected to button up his night shirt. Without his glasses, he squinted in the darkness. "Who's there?"   
  
A moment later, the scent of roses answered his question for him. Hermione approached the bed. "I couldn't sleep. Your son snores just as much as you."  
  
"I do not snore," Harry corrected her. "It was always Ron."  
  
"I know." In her long, but thin cotton nightgown, Hermione shivered. "Your fire's died out." She pointed to the glowing embers in the little hearth across the room.   
  
Harry lifted up the quilts. "Get in."   
  
"I shouldn't." She worked at her lower lip with her teeth. "The whole family..."  
  
"I'll keep my hands to myself, I promise."   
  
With only another second of hesitation, Hermione slid into bed next to Harry. "Don't let me fall asleep," she warned him. "I'd rather not have a repeat performance of Christmas night, only with Molly this time."   
  
Harry folded his arms around her, pulling her cheek down to his shoulder. "Just relax." He stroked her hair. "And don't worry."   
  
"I want to," she whispered. His entire body was so warm and strong. "But there's so much to worry about, Harry."   
  
"I wish I could make it all better for you."   
  
Hermione closed her eyes. "How can we tell them, Harry? They see Ron when they look at our son. I can't...take that away from them."   
  
"I don't know," he replied truthfully. "Maybe it's not all that important that we ever do."  
  
"Are you saying..." She frowned. "...that you could be happy now, if Harry were always thought of as Ron's son?"  
  
Harry shook his head. "Not happy, Hermione. But I'll always know the truth. I can always look at him and say that I helped create someone so incredible. And it really doesn't matter if anyone else ever knows or not."   
  
Her tears wet his lightly tanned skin. "How can you even say that you're not moving forward, Harry Potter?"   
  
"Because..." He looked back up at the ceiling. "If I were really moving forward, I'd have a better plan than just a scathing editorial in the Daily Prophet.   
  
By the time he had filled her in on that, Hermione's eyelids were drooping beyond the point of return. Harry sat up; with half of her body still draped over his chest, she was forced up with him. "Want me to walk down with you?"   
  
"I'll be all right." Reluctantly, Hermione pushed the covers off her legs. "I'm not going too far."   
  
"Good." Harry was about to let her get up, but then thought better of it and pulled her back down. Rolling his body on top of hers ever so gently, he kissed her goodnight. "I can tell the whole world that she's mine, can't I?" he asked, touching her stomach.   
  
Hermione smiled weakly. "Soon." He let her up and she walked to the door. "See you at breakfast." Harry had just settled back into the pillows, which now smelled like Hermione, when her head peeked back into the room. "And who says it's going to be a girl, anyway?"  
  
He tucked his hands behind his head, confidently. "Just a guess."  
  
****  
  
"Do you think you've got it then?" Harry looked around the crowd of seventh year students gathered around a huge table in the library. It was mostly girls, although there were a few boys who seemed to be there to study and not giggle; each House was represented numerous times. "It's not an easy thing to deflect the Imperius Curse, but you've each made tremendous progress this year. You're quite ready, I think, for your N.E.W.T.S."  
  
One girl, a slender, attractive Ravenclaw, raised her hand. "Professor, you've taught us how to overthrow two of the three Forbidden Curses..." She hesitated. "But you haven't even discussed the third."  
  
"The Killing Curse," Harry began, very conscious of every single pair of eyes that bored into him. "There's really not a way to..."  
  
"You've done it, Professor," a Gryffindor boy called out. "Twice. Once when you were a baby!"  
  
Without thinking, Harry reached up to rub his forehead. "Yes, but I can't exactly..."  
  
He was cut off again by a Slytherin girl. "If you can't show us, Professor Potter, can you at least tell us how you think you did it?"  
  
"It's getting late and..." Harry looked around at the students. Each of them were paying close attention; some even had their quills posed over parchment, prepared to write down his every word. Wasn't this the job of an instructor? To teach, by example, even? "All right," he gave in. "I'll tell you what I can remember."   
  
"The first time Voldemort..." There were a few flinches at the name; these students were old enough to really remember life under the threat of the Dark Lord. "...tried to kill me, I can't say what saved me. I believe a lot of it had to do with my mother." He took a breath. "The second time..." Harry stopped, remembering.   
  
**His scar was pure agony, had been for days; he could taste blood in his mouth as it dripped down his cheek and onto his lips.**  
  
"He called to me and I went," Harry continued. "I should have been alone, but they..."  
  
**'Do you honestly think we're just going to leave you to face this by yourself, Harry Potter?!' 'Yeah, Harry. We've been in this together since we were kids. Someone's gotta watch your back, mate.'**  
  
"My friends followed me to the field. They..." His voice was dull. "Voldemort..."  
  
**'Brought your friends for me to play with, Harry? They've been thorns in my side for long enough.'**  
  
Harry's chin dropped to his chest. The memories, the ones he actually retained, were too much. This was why he hadn't let himself think about that day for so long. He couldn't speak, couldn't clear the images away.  
  
"Professor Potter?" one student finally said, ever so softly.   
  
His head snapped up. "Love is the key to the Killing Curse," he blurted out. Several students drew back as he jumped out of his seat and gathered up his books and papers. "I'll see you all in class."   
  
He ignored the buzz of voices behind him as he hurried out the doors. It wasn't until he had put a good distance between himself and the library that he found he could breathe again. He relaxed his hands, although the papers he clutched were now hopelessly wrinkled. It didn't really matter; they were just notes and one copy of his editorial letter for The Daily Prophet. The original had already been sent to Ginny care of Hedwig; he expected to see it in the paper within the next day or so.   
  
Three weeks had passed since they had returned from their weekend at the Burrow. Harry smiled at the stone floor as he continued walking towards the professors' wing. Things had changed so much, and it wasn't just because of the baby. His relationship with little Harry was creeping back to life. Most of Harry's evenings were now spent with Hermione and his son, eating dinner together, playing games...little Harry had even asked for his father's help in studying his spelling lessons.   
  
An air of formality still existed between them, but he had at least gotten the boy to call him "Harry" and not "Professor Potter," a big step as far as he was concerned.   
  
But for Harry, his nights were most drastically changed, because now he spent many of them with Hermione. It wasn't common knowledge at all, but he had a sneaking suspicion that Dumbledore and possibly Professor McGonagall knew. Of course, there wasn't much that went on at Hogwarts of which Dumbledore was not aware. He got the feeling that they both approved. It made it all that much easier to keep up the pretense of mere friendship with Hermione around the castle.   
  
In fact, he was late for dinner with them even now. He tripled his speed until he was almost jogging through the endless corridors. Harry rounded a corner and in his haste, slammed into something solid. He fell, landing on his back, his books spreading across the hallway. Adjusting his glasses, Harry looked up to see what he had run into. His eyes grew wide.   
  
"Hello, Harry," the tall figure said, offering him a hand. "Not exactly your most graceful moment, but I won't tell anyone." The man smiled warmly. "It is good to see you again."  
  
"You, too," Harry said, the surprise still lingering, making his voice stutter. "Professor Lupin."  
  
****  
  
To Be Continued 


	17. Morsmorde

Disclaimer: Never could have thought up most of this stuff on my own. I just tool around in JK Rowling's world.  
  
Author's Notes: Big old thanks for the continued support of this story and all the sweet congratulations on my graduation. It went over as smoothly as two straight hours of names being continuously read out-loud can go. I didn't trip on my way across the stage, at least. And I sat next to a cute history major. Anyways, here's the next chapter I promised. I hope to get out another before Christmas, but don't hold me to that;)   
  
Oh, and as for real notes...I don't know (and I don't think anyone is supposed to know) just how old James was when he died, but I've put him under 28 for this story. Sound about right? Okay, moving on. Um...Lupin's hard to write for. I hope I got his voice down right. All right, that's about all I have to say for now. Take care and enjoy!!  
  
****  
  
An Organ of Fire  
by Kristen Elizabeth  
  
****  
  
"That's not a good villian name. Good villian names are, like, Lex and Voldemort." -Andrew, Buffy the Vampire Slayer  
  
****  
  
"Bloody hell, kid." Remus Lupin shook his head as he held out his hand to help Harry to his feet. "You're entirely James now."   
  
"Really?"   
  
His father's old friend nodded, almost sadly. "James at twenty-eight. Or what I assume he would have..." He stopped. "Well, let's avoid that twist in memory lane, shall we?" Shaking his head of greying brown hair, he bent down to help Harry gather up his things. "Sorry if I startled you, by the way."  
  
"You didn't. All right, only just a little. What are you doing here, Professor?"  
  
"Harry, how many years has it been since I taught you?"   
  
He accepted an armful of books from the older man. "I don't know. Fourteen or so?"   
  
"So you're still calling me 'Professor' because...?"  
  
"Because I haven't seen you in over a decade?"   
  
Lupin smiled. "Fair enough. As for why I'm here...I'm worried." He continued as they started to walk. "As soon as I heard about what Sirius is supposed to have done..."  
  
"You don't believe in then, either!" Harry let out a breath. "Finally, someone with common sense."  
  
"I spent far too many years punishing Sirius in my mind for a crime he didn't commit. I'm not about to jump back into that without even trying to dig for the truth." They rounded a corner, narrowly escaping another collision, only this time with a group of Gryffindor first years.   
  
Harry nodded and smiled at each "hello, Professor Potter" until they were past the children.   
  
"Quite the popular teacher you are now, Harry."   
  
"Well, I learned from the best." Lupin accepted the compliment without comment. "You were saying...um...Professor?"  
  
Shooting Harry a raised eyebrow, he finished his thought. "I don't believe that Sirius signed anything against Muggle-borns. Some of his own family were Muggles. His maternal grandmother, if I remember correctly. Someone's obviously trying to frame him again. And I have a feeling it's that Malfoy kid everyone's been talking so much about. Even in America, they..."  
  
"You've been in America?"   
  
Lupin nodded. "I'm sorry, Harry. I've shown up, completely out of the blue, spouting off without any real explanations. Tell you what, I could do with some food. I haven't missed dinner, have I? I'm all turned around still. Apparating across the Atlantic can do that to you."   
  
"Well, actually I was just heading to Hermione's for dinner." Harry smiled. "There's always plenty of food, even after Harry gets into it."   
  
"Talking about ourselves in the third person now, are we, Harry?"   
  
He blinked. "How long have you been abroad?"  
  
"Eight years or so. I actually set out on a quest to find you, but you're damn invisible when you want to be, kid."   
  
"Sirius...he never wrote to you about...anything? Having to do with Hermione and Ron and..." He stopped. "Nothing?" When Lupin shook his head, Harry took a breath. "They got married. Had a...had a child. Named him after me. And now Ron's...dead."   
  
A long moment passed. "A loss to the world," Lupin finally said, his voice low. "He was a gifted wizard; I could tell, even at thirteen, that he'd grow out of his brothers' shadows."   
  
Harry looked up at the vaulted ceilings and flying buttresses. There was so much he wasn't telling his father's best friend that he probably should. It just didn't seem like the right time or place. "Hermione would love to see you."  
  
****  
  
"Professor Lupin!!" Hermione approached her old teacher with a look of wonder on her face. "I heard you were in America!" She hesitated, then embraced him. "Welcome home!"  
  
"I told you she'd be glad to see you," Harry grinned.   
  
Lupin returned the smile, patting her back gently. "Hello, Hermione. I was in America, yes. I've only just returned."   
  
Hermione drew back suddenly, a look of extreme shock etched onto her features. "Tonight is a full moon!!"   
  
Harry's gaze shot to the tall window cut into the far wall of Hermione's apartment. Indeed, the moon hung in a perfect orb over Hogwarts. He looked back at Lupin. "Professor..."  
  
"Still in top form, Hermione." The man, who should have been spending the evening as a deadly beast, pulled a vial of blue liquid from his robes. "A new potion, a stronger concentration of the wolfsbane potion I used to take, was discovered quite recently by an American witch. Handy, isn't it?"  
  
"Marvelous is more like it!" Hermione exclaimed. "Might you have the breakdown of ingredients with you? I'd like to look at it."   
  
Lupin replaced the vial. "All in good time, I promise. First, I owe Harry some answers. And..." He gave her a slightly sheepish look. "If you have any food to spare..."  
  
"Of course! I was just about to get everything together. Take a seat." She pointed to the oak table. "Harry!" she yelled towards the staircase. "Come on down for dinner!"  
  
As Harry and Lupin sat down, little Harry burst into the living room. He stopped upon seeing the stranger at the table. "Mum..."  
  
Harry gestured to his son. "Harry...I'd like you to meet...an old friend of your mother's and mine, Mr. Lupin. Professor, this is Harry, Hermione and...Hermione's son."   
  
Lupin held out a hand to the boy as though he were a grown man. "Good to meet you, Harry." He stopped when little Harry took the offered hand. The older Harry watched him carefully as he studied the boy. He winced when the man looked back at him with the same critical eye. Finally, Lupin nodded. "I see."   
  
Fortunately Hermione chose that moment to re-enter carrying a platter of roast beef and Yorkshire pudding.   
  
Throughout the meal, Lupin filled Harry and Hermione in on the last eight years of his life. After giving up his search for Harry, he had traveled to America, earning a living for a brief time as the Defense teacher at the Salem Witches Institute. It was there that he had met Camilla, a widowed witch with a teenaged daughter attending the school. And it was for her that he had sought out the latest ways to keep his lycanthropy at bay.   
  
"But when I heard that a Malfoy was putting himself in the public eye in Britain, I knew I had to return. And then hearing about Sirius..." Lupin rounded out his tale as Hermione brought out coffee and strawberry-rhubarb tarts. "I left Camilla back where it's safe, although I hope you can meet her someday."  
  
"I hope so, too," Harry replied. "Professor...do you have any idea how we can neutralize Malfoy and correct all the damage he's managed to inflict?"   
  
Lupin added cream to his coffee. "I'm not entirely sure it's that simple, Harry. I think, though, the first thing to do is contact Sirius."  
  
"But if he's not himself..."  
  
Sensing that the conversation was about to get heavy, Hermione turned to her son. "Can you take your dessert up to your room, love?"   
  
Little Harry looked around at the adults. "You're talking about Mr. Malfoy, aren't you? And how he doesn't like Muggles."   
  
"Harry, can you do as I ask?" Hermione continued, gently, but firmly.   
  
He obeyed, but with obvious reluctance. Harry looked back at Hermione after their son had left. "He's as old as we were when..."  
  
"I don't want him exposed," Hermione cut him off. Only Harry could have noticed the slight thickness in her waist as she stood to refill Lupin's cup. "Go ahead, Professor."   
  
Lupin cleared his throat. "If something has happened to Sirius, we'll have to be careful how we word our letter. But sending one can only garner us more information. Dumbledore agrees with me. I spoke to him before we ran into each other."   
  
"I'm just tired of sitting around on my arse, unable to do anything!" Harry slammed his cup back into its saucer. His eyes flashed jade daggers towards the table. "I can only write a bleeding editorial that probably won't do a thing!"   
  
"It'll bait him, Harry." Hermione couldn't stop herself from touching Harry's shoulder. "He won't be able to ignore it. And it'll be his turn to play defensive."   
  
"I agree with Hermione. I'll write to Sirius tonight just to tell him that I'm back. Depending on how he responds, we can plan our next move." Lupin smiled at Hermione. "Are there anymore tarts?" When she disappeared into the kitchen for the remainder, the older man leveled Harry with a hard stare. "Were you planning on telling me that the boy is your son?"   
  
Harry shook his head. "That story will take more than just one meal."   
  
****  
  
Later that night, Hermione pumped Lavender's Luxurious Lotion into the palm of her hand and watched Harry pull down the covers on her bed through her dressing table mirror as she worked the concoction into her skin. "I'm glad he came. I know that we're the adults now, too, but it still feels...nice to know that we're not alone. You know what I mean?"   
  
"I do." Harry stacked the pillows and slid between the sheets. He removed his glasses and placed them on the nightstand. "But...he knows about Harry."   
  
She stood up with a sigh. "I'm not surprised."   
  
"Are you upset?"  
  
Hermione approached the bed. "No. Of course not." The smile she gave him was warm, but it faded after a moment. "Harry..." Her hands covered her belly. "Do I look..."  
  
"A little," he replied. "It's not going to be too much longer that we can keep this a secret." Harry reached out to touch the place where their daughter grew within her. "I don't even want to anymore."   
  
"I keep telling myself that we have to wait for the right moment. But I'm not sure what the right moment is." She got into bed; the sheets were cool and she instinctively sought the warmth of his body. "Any thoughts?"   
  
Harry's eyes were half-closed. It had been an emotionally jarring day. "I think you should marry me. And then we wouldn't have to explain..." He yawned. "...anything to anyone."   
  
"All right." Her reply was soft. "I'll marry you then." Unfortunately, Harry was already asleep. Hermione kissed his cheek, blew out the lantern, and settled back into the crook of his arm. "All you've ever had to do was ask, Harry."  
  
She didn't bring up his sleepy proposal again. And as a handful of days turned into a week, she became convinced that it had been nothing more than a passing comment. What she didn't know about was the catalog Harry had picked up from Regina's Ravishing Regalia in Diagon Alley hidden in his dresser drawer between a pile of pajama pants, with the ring selection dog-eared.   
  
****  
  
"Do you know what I think my favorite part is?" Hermione pushed aside her untouched breakfast and spread the Monday edition of the Daily Prophet out in front of her on the professor's table in the Great Hall. She cleared her throat dramatically and began to read aloud. "'Making up in connections what he lacks in cleverness, Draco Malfoy sees the world as something to manipulate. We are all just toys for a wizard who can't seem to grow up from his days as the school-bully. Allowing ourselves to fall under his spell is like bringing You-Know-Who back from the grave.'" She looked at Harry. "Wow."  
  
He glanced up from the terrific shredding job he was performing on an innocent piece of toast. "I wanted to use 'Voldemort' there, but Ginny's editor changed it."  
  
"No need ter be startin' a panic," Hagrid commented. "'Though I think the best part were where 'arry says that he's only half as dark as his father were and workin' a bit too hard a' catchin' up."   
  
Down a few places, Snape pushed back his chair with a loud scraping noise and left the table.   
  
"What's crawled up his robes?" Lupin asked, pointing to the man's back with his fork, on which a large piece of bacon was speared.   
  
"It's hard for Severus." All eyes turned to Dumbledore, presiding over the Hall as the great leader he was. His ancient eyes were sympathetic. "He practically raised the young Malfoy. I'd imagine he feels quite a heavy burden of responsibility for how he's turned out."   
  
Hermione folded up the paper. "It's not his fault."   
  
"Not directly, maybe," Harry mumbled. "But still...here we are."   
  
"Here we are," Dumbledore echoed.   
  
"Actually, here we go." Hermione stood up. "First lessons in ten minutes," she informed the rest of the faculty. "Have a good day, all." She caught Harry's eye, giving him a look that was distinctly private before she started off.   
  
After a proper amount of time had elapsed, Harry excused himself. He caught up with Hermione just outside of the History of Magic classroom. "You didn't eat anything," he blurted without any lead-in. "Are you feeling all right?"   
  
"I'm fine, Harry. I'm just not fried-eggs-fine." She glanced over his shoulder, noting the trickle of second years heading her way. "Don't worry about us. We're tough."   
  
He slipped a discreet hand into her robes; from any angle, it merely looked like the two professors were standing close together, talking. Harry covered her newly firm belly with his flattened palm. "I expect that if Malfoy has any response to the piece, it'll come within the next day or so. I might have to head to London. Before I do, I want to ask you..."  
  
"Morning, Professor Weasley! Professor Potter."   
  
They broke away instantly. Nodding to each other and to the second year Gryffindor whose greeting had ruined the moment, they each headed off to begin their separate mornings.   
  
****   
  
Harry met Lupin for a quick lunch in the rare break he had between his classes; he didn't even go to the Great Hall. Rather, the older man brought sandwiches to him and they ate at the desks while Harry tried to fill him in on the history behind little Harry's birth, without giving away his current relationship with the boy's mother.   
  
"So..." Lupin swallowed a mouthful of ham and bread. "If anyone asks..."  
  
"Harry's not mine," Harry finished up.   
  
"Hmm." He took another bite; concern was evident on his face, but the matter-of-factness with which Harry discussed the matter dissuaded any further comment. "Oh, by the way, I got a letter off to Sirius finally. I think I wrote the damnable thing a hundred times. And I'm still not satisfied that it will promote an answer, but not raise suspicions."  
  
Harry set down his half-eaten sandwich, his appetite suddenly lost. He picked up his mug of pumpkin juice and raised it. "Here's to a speedy reply." The rim of the mug rested against his lips for a long moment, but Harry didn't drink. Finally, he set it back down. "This holding pattern we're locked in is killing me."  
  
"The calm before the storm."  
  
"How much would I tempt fate if I said I wish it could all just happen already, as to be done with it?"  
  
Lupin shook his head. "Never tempt fate, Harry, under any circumstances. She has a nasty way of rearing up and..."   
  
There was commotion in the hallway, buzzing so loud it cut off the older man. Harry frowned and stood up. Dark blurs ran past the open doorway, students en masse, all heading in the same direction. "What on earth..." Abandoning his lunch, Harry ran out of the classroom, Lupin on his heels.   
  
They joined up with the crowd of students; Harry reached for the first one whose name he could remember. "Priscilla," he addressed a startled-looking fourth year Hufflepuff. "What is all this?"   
  
"I don't know, Professor." She shook her head, dark curls bouncing around her shoulders. "They just said it was outside and we had to see it!"  
  
"Who said? What is it?" Harry gave the girl an apologetic look. "Never mind." He looked back at Lupin. "Do you have a bad feeling about this?"  
  
They came around a corner into the open corridor that framed the central courtyard. There was little light, save for the torches; the cloudy morning had turned into a stormy afternoon. Harry could feel the cool breeze before he even turned his head back around. "Yes," Lupin replied. "A very bad feeling."   
  
In only a moment, the two men stepped onto grass from stone and joined what seemed to be the entire school in looking up at the heavy grey sky over Hogwarts.   
  
The Dark Mark. Harry had only seen it like this one other time. And at that time, it had heralded Voldemort's return to the crowds gathered at the International Cup. Now, it hung over Hogwarts, an image straight out of the nightmares that had plagued him across most of Europe. He instinctively knew what it heralded now and who had put it there.   
  
"Bloody hell!" Harry let the words slip out, despite the presence of his students.   
  
Lupin stared at the Mark, never blinking. Even when the lightning, which had most of the children screaming, streaked across the sky, he made no move to look away. "Looks like he read your article."  
  
"No...it's not th...fuck!"  
  
Finally, his father's friend blinked and looked over at him. "What's wrong, Harry?" The younger man had both hands pressed against his forehead; after a second, he doubled over, still clutching his brow. "Harry?!"   
  
"It's all right," Harry forced out between clenched teeth. "It happened...on Halloween, too. It's just...Mal.." He inhaled as the pain threatened to split his head open. "The Mark..."  
  
Lupin already had an arm around his shoulder, leading him out of the crowd. They hadn't even made it to the edge of the courtyard before the first stinging drops of rain hit them. Like a dam had been lowered, rain poured down on Hogwarts. Harry and Lupin were caught in the stampede of children heading for cover.  
  
Through the pain, Harry could hear a single voice cutting through the din. "Students! Head to your dormitories, immediately! Teachers, to the Quidditch green." After so many years, Dumbledore still had the power to be heard and instantly obeyed.   
  
Harry straightened up as much as he could, ignoring the streams of students rushing past them. "I have to get out there and..."  
  
"You can barely stand," Lupin said, pulling him in the opposite direction. The Boy-Who-Lived was in no condition to put up much of a fight. "Dumbledore will understand if you're not..."  
  
Once again, he didn't get to finish the thought. Through the pushing mass of school-robed bodies, little Harry emerged, running straight for his father. Harry drew his hand away from his forehead as the boy reached him, out of breath and deathly pale. "Harry? What..."  
  
"Mum," the child panted.   
  
"Are you all right, Harry?"   
  
Little Harry shook his head. "I...I fell asleep studying and I had a...a dream. My mum...something's happened to her."  
  
The pain was suddenly forgotten. "Hermione? She..." Harry looked around. "I didn't see her..." Before Lupin could stop him, Harry took off through the castle.   
  
"Harry!" He could hear Lupin calling his name, could sense his former teacher and his son running after him, but Harry refused to slow down. Even when the throbbing pain returned, stronger than ever.   
  
He tore through the halls, ducking his head into every classroom until he reached hers. But they were all empty, and only the last one he looked in had even any trace of her. Hermione's lesson plans were spread out over her desk. Notes on goblins decorated the chalkboard. The robe she had been wearing over her skirt and blouse that morning was neatly draped over the back of her chair. But the woman he loved was nowhere to be seen.   
  
"Perhaps she's already joined the others on the field," Lupin suggested. Harry's only indication that he heard this was to turn around and thunder out of the room, on a reverse course through the castle.  
  
Once outside, the rain drenched whatever wasn't already wet within seconds. Water cascaded down the insides of his glasses, but Harry could see Snape and Hagrid running towards the Quidditch field with Professor Sprout and Madam Hooch.   
  
"Hermione!" he shouted through the storm. His head tilted back; the Dark Mark was right above him. Rainwater gathered in his open mouth. "Hermione...where are you?!"  
  
Pain shot through him so suddenly and with such severity that the next thing Harry knew was that his knees had hit the muddy ground. He tried to look up, but found that he couldn't even lift his chin under the weight of his agony. "Hermione."   
  
He felt hands on his shoulders. Heard voices. Lupin, Snape, McGonagall. His son. Harry's eyes closed. It was then that he heard the one voice he had thought he never would again.   
  
**She needs you, mate.**  
  
Harry slowly opened his eyes. He blinked away rain, tears, shock. In the crowd gathered around him, the face...his first friend...his best friend. "Ron..."  
  
**Find her, Harry. Before he hurts her.**  
  
As he tried to stand, the pain emanating from his scar caught up with him. For Harry, the world became nothing but darkness and silence.  
  
****  
  
Just as quickly as he had drifted out of it, consciousness hit Harry like a cartoon anvil. He was lying in a bed, he realized as he sat up straight. The hospital wing. It was light, daytime. His head throbbed, but it was nothing like the pain that had knocked him out.   
  
"Father."   
  
Harry looked to his right. His son sat in a chair next to his bed, looking smaller than usual. His red hair was unkempt. The boy held out his glasses and after a moment of staring at them, Harry took them and pushed them onto the bridge of his nose.   
  
"Father," little Harry began again. Now that he could see, Harry focused on the tear-stains streaking his son's cheeks. "I'm sorry." He sniffed. "I was supposed to help you look out for her. Dad told me to..." He stopped, his dirty hands trembling in his lap.   
  
"Harry..." He was surprised at the soreness in his throat. "What...happened?"  
  
The boy looked up, moisture welling up in his wide, green eyes. "We've looked everywhere for her. For two days. She's not here anymore."   
  
He could feel the empty pit of fear forming in the bottom of his stomach. Cold sweat beaded on his temples and upper lip. "Hermione is..."  
  
"She's gone." Their son spoke in a tiny voice. "Someone took her."   
  
His hand shook as Harry raised the back of it to his mouth. The darkness could come and take him again; in those few seconds, he would have welcomed it. The one bright spot in his life...someone had taken her away. Malfoy had taken her away. She could be tortured, she could be dead, she could be hanging on for their child. But she wasn't where she belonged, and it was all because of him.  
  
Ridding the world of Voldemort had been necessary. Destroying Draco Malfoy would simply be a pleasure.   
  
****  
  
To Be Continued 


	18. Dissendium

Disclaimer: Standard profession of innocent intentions. Please don't sue.  
  
Author's Notes: I knew this chapter would be finished tonight, seeing as how I just returned from England. Well...okay, Epcot, which has a lovely fake England in its World Showcase. I was quite impressed with the cider I bought at the pub, and less impressed by the lack of Harry Potter merchandise. (Damn you, Warner Brothers!! If you're not going to put England in your own parks, set something up with Disney for theirs!!) I was at least hoping to find a red and yellow scarf. Time to dust off the knitting needles, I guess.  
  
Oh, sorry. Got off track there. Where was I? Ah! A few days ago I got an email from a reader asking if I listen to music when I'm writing and if so, what kind. I wrote back to this very nice person, but then thought that maybe someone else is curious. I do listen to music when I'm writing; it's essential, sometimes to the entire tone of a particular section. At the end of the chapter, I've listed some of the things I've had on in the background while I've been writing this story. If you're not interested, feel free to ignore it. If you are, I'd imagine everything is on Kazaa. Good stuff, people;) And I'm picky about music.   
  
Once again, thank you so much for your kind words and support. It tickles me beyond pink to hear that ya'll are enjoying it. I hope I don't ever disappoint. On that note, on with the show!   
  
PS: Merry (or Happy) Christmas everyone!!! Make it jolly and safe. Jolly safe.  
  
****  
  
An Organ of Fire  
by Kristen Elizabeth  
  
****  
  
"Harry."  
  
With lazy movements, Harry turned his head to look at the woman lying beside him. "The sun is going down."  
  
"I know," she replied. "Night comes so much quicker these days." She lifted her chin enough to look down the length of her body. "I like my present."  
  
"Be careful." Harry watched her run a finger up and down the smooth length of the garden snake coiled on her lower stomach. "They bite, Hermione."  
  
She smiled at him. "Nothing can hurt me when I'm with you."   
  
Harry settled back, tucking one arm behind his neck. "We should probably go. It'll get cold before long."   
  
"Just a few more minutes." Hermione let the creature wrap around her wrist. "She likes the dark. And there's no rush, Harry."  
  
"You're right," he easily agreed, sitting up to stretch. Harry glanced around. The rock on which they had spread their picnic blanket balanced precariously on top of another rock, which rested on another rock, a hundred feet off the ground. "It's not like we can get down anyway."  
  
"What goes up, must come down. Broomsticks and birds, Snitches and scaffolding."   
  
"Yes." Harry took a breath of night air. "I'm glad we had this time together, Hermione."  
  
"So am I, Harry. I've...ow!" She frowned at her hand and the two fresh puncture marks that marred it. "She bit me. Is she poisonous?"   
  
"I think I used to know, but...I can't remember." He reached for her bleeding palm and raised it to his lips. "What does poison taste like?"   
  
When he looked back up at her, her face was white, like a freshly washed bedsheet. "It's all right, Harry," Hermione whispered. "It doesn't hurt."  
  
"Hermione?"  
  
The snake had made its way up to her neck; its head danced around the base of her throat. "You can't stop what's to come, my love. But I promise, it'll all be over soon..."  
  
****  
  
"No!" Harry's eyes flew open; he jerked his cheek up from its resting place on his arm. "I can!!"  
  
"Harry." Lupin was at his side in a second. "What is it?"   
  
"Hermione! She..." He blinked several times. "It was...a dream. She was in my..." Harry swallowed heavily. "I'm sorry."  
  
The large hand that landed on his back could only belong to Hagrid. "Yer barely outta th' hospital wing, 'arry. We ought not ter be keepin' yer up."   
  
Harry shook his head, clearing away the lingering images. "No, I'm fine. I just...won't doze off anymore." He looked up at Lupin. "I don't suppose it's all just been a dream?" He tried to smile at his own meager joke. "Didn't think so."  
  
"Harry, are you sure about this? It's what you want to do, and damn the consequences?"   
  
His brain raced to catch up. Before he had fallen asleep, they had been discussing...what? Then, he looked down the papers spread before him on Hermione's dining room table. One in particular, a map, caught his eye. Then, he remembered. "Yes," he said, the chill in his voice startling even him. "If he's got her there, I'm going there to get her back. And I'd like to see him try to stop me."   
  
"I just want you to be sure. I mean, there are other things we could do. We could find Sirius and..."   
  
"Every second that we sit here debating is another second Hermione could be in pain." Harry's hand curled into a tight ball. "If you're not on board with the plan, then you don't have to come along."   
  
Lupin was quiet for a moment. "Harry. Whoever took Hermione..."  
  
"Malfoy. It was Malfoy. Let's just say it out loud, shall we?"  
  
"...they've done the impossible. Broken through the Hogwarts defenses. And you say it probably wasn't even just this once? But on Halloween, too?" Harry nodded curtly. "Don't you get it, Harry? The amount of power...of skill that doing this takes? The greatest wizards in history created the enchantments that protect this castle. And Malfoy's found a way through them. That means..."  
  
"That means this won't be easy." Harry stood up and paced towards the fireplace. "But it doesn't mean I'm not going to do it. I have to...find her. I have to save her and..." He put one hand on the mantle, resting his forehead on the inside of his elbow. "I was going to ask her to marry me," he whispered.   
  
"What's tha', 'arry?" Hagrid asked.  
  
He squeezed back hot tears. "Nothing. Listen..." Harry turned his head to see his friends. "I don't blame you if you're not terribly keen on going head-long into the fray with me. But just know that I can always use the two of you by my side. I have ever since I was a kid."   
  
"We'll be with you," Lupin said after a long pause. "There was a never a question about that."   
  
"I'll be with you, too."   
  
Harry whipped his gaze around to the other side of the fireplace and the staircase that led up to the bedrooms. Little Harry was sitting on the lower steps, his hands tucked tightly under the arms of his green sweater. He had obviously been there for some time without notice. The boy stood up bravely. "I want to help you find Mum."   
  
"Harry..." The elder Harry sighed softly.   
  
"I'm serious!" His son approached him, unfolding his arms. "I can take care of myself. You won't have to watch out for me. I just...I want to do something! She's my Mum."  
  
"It's just too dangerous. You haven't even started your training. There'd be no way for you to protect yourself from..." Harry shook his head. "I'm sorry. No. It's impossible."   
  
Lupin sat on the edge of the table. "You did say that he's the same age you were when you took on the dark forces single-handedly."   
  
"Tha's true, 'arry. Yer only came up ter my knee when yer an' Ron an' 'ermione went lookin' fer tha' bloody stone tha'..."  
  
"We're not having a debate here. Hermione doesn't want him exposed!" Harry fairly shouted. "I'm not about to go against her wishes!"  
  
There was another pause after Harry's outburst. "Father," little Harry began in a voice almost too quiet to be heard. "I've already been exposed."  
  
The fire in the hearth crackled cheerfully, mocking the heavy silence that draped the room and its occupants. "The entire reason I haven't been in your life until now, the reason I left, was to protect the people I love. After all that, if anything were to happen to one of them..."  
  
Little Harry blinked. "You love me?"  
  
"Harry..." He stared at his son, such a perfect representation of his love for Hermione, and Ron's love for both of them. The question was so small, yet it nearly knocked him over. There was only one way to answer. "Of course I do."   
  
He spoke the words with such unmistakable emotion that Hagrid had to clear his throat. Lupin seemed to be quite interested in something on the ceiling. Little Harry watched his father for another second before breaking into a grin. But only a second passed before it faded.   
  
"I still want to help Mum."  
  
"And I still say that I can't risk you. Can you understand that, Harry?"  
  
The boy looked down at his shoes. One had come untied, making him seem much younger. "I can," he mumbled. "I'll stay here."  
  
After reaching out to touch his son's shoulder, Harry returned to business. He moved back to the table and picked up the map. "The first thing we have to know is just where the hell we're going."   
  
Lupin frowned. "Do you know where the Malfoy's manor is?"   
  
"No." Harry thought for a second. "But I know someone who does."   
  
****  
  
They found Severus Snape where he always was when he wasn't presiding over a class of nervous students: in the dungeons, hunched over a boiling cauldron, stirring a concoction of nauseating ingredients. He looked up as Harry, Lupin and little Harry entered; the steam coming from his potion had plastered his greying black locks to his forehead and cheeks, but given his sallow skin an almost pink glow. He was obviously surprised to see them.  
  
"We're sorry to burst in on you," Harry spoke first. "I tried your apartment first, but..." He didn't need to finish the obvious observation.   
  
"It's quite alright." Snape stepped away from the cauldron. After an awkward pause, he asked, "Is there any news?"  
  
Harry shook his head tightly. "Nothing."   
  
Little Harry moved towards the cauldron. "What are you making, Professor?"   
  
"It's only an experiment," Snape told the boy, discouraging any further curiosity. "Don't get too close." The boy stepped back. "I take it you're not here to chat, Potter."   
  
"No." Harry leveled the man with the intensity in his eyes. So much like his father, Snape couldn't help but think. "Dumbledore says this is hard for you. I have no doubt, but honestly..." He lifted his shoulders. "I'm finding it hard to care. You know as well as I who has my...Hermione. And you know me well enough to know I'll stop at nothing to get her back from him."  
  
Snape's hand closed around a bottle of powdered dragon's blood. "And where do I fit into your rescue plans?"  
  
"Do you see anyone else in this room who has been a welcome guest at Malfoy Manor?"  
  
For a long time, Snape watched his former student with a keen, yet somehow tired eye. "That was a long time ago," he finally replied.   
  
"You still know how to get there, don't you?" Harry pressed. "That's all I'm asking for."   
  
The Potions master uncorked the dragon's blood and added a healthy amount to his cauldron. "Are you going to kill him?"  
  
"If needs be...yes."  
  
"You'll go to Azkaban and he'll become a martyr."   
  
Lupin stepped into the conversation, "Harry only meant as a very last resort. The fact of the matter is that..."  
  
"He's killed Ron. It doesn't matter if it was with a curse or his bare hands." Harry stepped even closer to the older man. "Don't you think he should answer for it? Or do you still think, after all these years, that he can do no wrong?"  
  
"He can do wrong," Snape replied. "I've seen it...first-hand."   
  
Harry folded his arms. "Then if you sit back and do nothing, you're as much to blame as him."   
  
"Do you think this is going to be easy, Potter?" Snape threw aside the half-empty bottle and reached for another from his cache of supplies. "Do you think you're just going to Apparate into the Malfoy's parlor and find Hermione tied to a chair? No." He tossed in a Jobberknoll feather. "He knows better than that."  
  
"You taught him better than that."  
  
"Believe what you want." Snape added another feather, causing the mixture inside the cauldron to turn a sickening shade of green.   
  
Harry glanced back at Hagrid and Lupin. "We're wasting time."   
  
"Are you going to help us or not, Severus?" Lupin asked. "Just tell us where the Manor is and what sort of defenses it has and we'll be out of your hair."  
  
Snape gazed into his potion. "I could tell you, but..."  
  
Harry brought his fist down on Snape's worktable, rattling the jars and bottles. "I should have known you wouldn't do anything to help me! I'd have better luck tracking down Dobby the bloody house elf and asking for his help!"  
  
"I'd rather show you," Snape finished, coldly.   
  
Hagrid blinked. "Yer want ter go with 'arry?"  
  
"You want to come along?" Harry's brow crinkled. "Why?"  
  
As he replied, Snape carefully measured out something that Harry couldn't identify. "I have my reasons. But more than that..." He added the mysterious substance; the color turned a darker shade of green. "You can't get there without a guide."   
  
Harry's gaze slid back and forth between the Potions master and his potion. "What is it that you're making?"  
  
The man reached for a ladle and poured a fair amount of the brew into a beaker. "If you need to know, I'll tell you."   
  
"You really are an impossible bastard," Harry snapped, seventeen years of animosity boiling over.   
  
Snape snorted. "Then find someone else to deliver you into the hands of the dragon."  
  
Harry ran his hands through his black locks several times. "When can you be ready to go?"   
  
"Whenever you are, Potter." The older man screwed a lid onto his concoction. "Just so you know...if you face him tonight, one out of the two of you won't make it to dawn."   
  
"Ther's a cheery attitude fer yer," Hagrid muttered.   
  
Harry glanced at his son. "He won't be able to kill me."   
  
"Are you so sure?" Snape asked.   
  
"Yes." His eyes closed briefly; he could almost sense Hermione's body curled up next to his, smell her warm rose scent, feel her expanding belly underneath his hand. "I have a lot more to protect than Malfoy does." His eyes opened. "We'll start for Hogsmeade in fifteen minutes. I don't want anyone to know what we're doing." Harry hesitated. "Not even Dumbledore."   
  
Lupin scratched the back of his neck, worried. "If you're even listening to me anymore, Harry, I don't think that's such a good idea."  
  
"I'm listening. I just don't see how involving Dumbledore is going to help."  
  
"Stop and think, Harry," he continued. "This weight of the world...you don't have to carry all of it. There are people around to help you. You don't have to do this alone."   
  
"You don't understand." His head ached in sheer exhaustion. More than anything else, Harry Potter was tired of being Harry Potter. "It always comes down to me."  
  
****  
  
It had all happened so quickly that it was hard at first for Hermione to accept that it hadn't been a dream. One second she had been following her students as they ran to find the source of the commotion in the castle; the next, she had woken up in the cold corner of a stone room with nothing but a plate of dry bread and a chamber pot.   
  
The first day she had spent in numbing silence, shocked out of her voice. She ate only when she realized that not eating could hurt the baby. She slept only for only brief periods of time; there was soft scratching all around her in the shadows. Even before Scabbers, rats were her least favorite of all creatures.   
  
On the second day, she woke from a few minutes sleep crying. The tears did not stop for a long time. It was only then that she began to really think about what had happened to her. She had been ripped out of the safe nest of Hogwarts, away from her child, away from her lover, away from her life, and dumped into a prison of sorts...and there was only one person in the world who hated her enough to have done it.   
  
She forced herself to talk, whispering words of comfort to her unborn child, but her thoughts were anything but light. Surely her disappearance had been noticed by now; it would take Harry even less time to connect the dots. He would come for her, of that she was sure. But she was even more certain that he would come looking for Malfoy. And she couldn't say she'd be sorry to see what Harry would do to the bastard.   
  
After all, she could remember with vivid clarity what Harry had done to Voldemort when he had threatened her life. It would never go away, that picture of Harry, bleeding and livid, pushing her away and blocking the path of Voldemort's curse. And then, the return curse that had withered the Dark Lord to nothing but an empty robe on the misty field. No...Draco Malfoy stood no chance against Harry if she were harmed.   
  
But knowing that didn't stop the sheer terror that sprung into her throat when a before-unseen door burst open and a shaft of light penetrated her little stone cage. Hermione winced and shielded her eyes.   
  
"You're to come with me," a voice ordered her. "Get up."   
  
Hermione grabbed onto the wall for support as she stood on weak legs. "Who are you? Why are you doing this to me?!" The unidentified person remained a dark blur in the light, but as she slowly began to walk towards the door she could make out features...nose, hair, eyes...  
  
"Sirius?" He stared straight ahead without blinking, but it was him, without a doubt. "Sirius," she repeated, tears welling up. Unmoved, he grabbed the dirty sleeve of her blouse. "What are you.."  
  
"Follow me." Harry's godfather yanked on her arm enough to hurt, pulling her into a stone corridor.   
  
Hermione went along without a fight. Perhaps there was a way to reach to Sirius, through whatever had control over him. "Please..." Her voice echoed off the cold walls. "Please let me go, Sirius. We can get out of here together and...and back to Hogwarts where it's safe. Harry's been worried about you...with good reason, I suppose, but..."  
  
"Stop talking."   
  
She stumbled over an uneven part of the floor. "This isn't you. I know it isn't you. Please tell me what Draco's done to you. Maybe I can help!" His grip on her arm grew tighter. "You're hurting me," Hermione whispered.   
  
Her pain went ignored as Sirius forced her up a long set of stone steps. They emerged into another hallway, only this one was lined with torches which failed to provide any warmth. "Sirius," she tried again. "Do you remember the first time you met Harry? You needed him to trust you...and he did. Please don't break that trust. You are family to Harry, the first real family he ever..."  
  
"I said stop talking." Sirius thrust her into an open doorway.   
  
Her knees slammed onto hard wood as she fell. Hermione bit her lip to keep in her cry of pain; she would not give anyone the satisfaction of seeing her down-trodden. With all the strength she had left, she picked herself off the floor, brushed off her ruined skirt and took her first look at her new surroundings. More of a hall than a room, it stretched across an impossible length of space. A huge fireplace sat at each end, the kind that could swallow a person whole, drowning them in flames.   
  
And at the one closest to her, a man in black, floor-length robes stood. But it would take more than even the largest fire to warm that man in particular; he turned a moment later to face her, his eyes more grey than blue...so clouded over with hate. "I trust you found your accommodations of the past two days suitable?"   
  
Hermione lifted her chin, staring back at Draco Malfoy with an equal amount of loathing. "I find nothing about being here suitable. Just who do you think you are?! I demand that you let me go immediately, Draco!"   
  
He began to laugh. "Spirited little Mudblood. You are hardly in a position to be making demands of any kind."   
  
"What do you want with me?"   
  
Smiling cooly, he stepped away from the fireplace. "Who says that I want anything from you?"   
  
Hermione licked her lips nervously. "What have you done to Sirius Black?"   
  
"I'm not really all that interested in revealing anything to you quite yet. Petrificus Totalus." Her captor snapped his long, pale fingers. She had no time to do anything before her entire body froze. "Who needs a wand when one has the power of the mind? I'm sure that's one thing you've never learned to do from your books."   
  
She could say nothing, but her eyes were windows into her fear, only shaded by a curtain of brave malice.   
  
"What a pleasant sound. Silence when the Head Girl of Hogwarts is present." He moved around her rigid body, which seemed to be standing up only by the sheer force of her willpower. "You asked what I want with you and I answered nothing. Well...that's not entirely the truth." Draco reached out to touch a stiff lock of her hair. "You're merely the bait for what I want." He glanced up at the arched ceiling as though he could see through to the moon. "He should be here at any moment." His gaze drifted back down to hers. "Then...the real fun can finally begin." Draco's eyes grew even colder. "And end."   
  
**Oh god....Harry. You're walking straight into a trap.** Inside her head, Hermione screamed, but outside, there was no noise but the sound of Draco Malfoy's laughter.  
  
****  
  
"This is it." Snape pointed at the dark house at the very top of a sloping peak just outside of Leeds. "Malfoy Manor."   
  
Harry barely flinched at the slap and crash of thunder and lightning. It seemed fitting, the storm that was brewing. Why should it have been pleasant on an evening when he had come looking for a fight to the death?   
  
"Lovely place," Lupin commented, dryly. "Perhaps I'll build a summer home here."   
  
Snape started across the short moor that lay between them and the manor. "A little less sarcasm would do just fine, Remus."   
  
"Sarcasm's all that I've got left," he replied, following his old schoolmate. When he didn't hear footsteps behind him, he glanced over his shoulder. "You've come this far, Harry. Nowhere to go but forward."  
  
Harry closed his eyes. He didn't want to say anything, didn't want it evident on his face, but his scar had been burning from the moment they Apparated onto the moor. He forced his eyes open. Just as he did, a light came on in the manor. A tiny square of light...a guide to follow to reach Hermione...a beacon to whatever the night held in store for him.   
  
After taking a calming breath of damp air, Harry started towards it.  
  
****  
  
To Be Continued  
  
****  
  
Soundtracks:  
Harry Potter and the Sorcerer's Stone (of course)  
Practical Magic   
Dawson's Creek Volumes I and II  
Buffy the Vampire Slayer   
Romeo and Juliet  
  
Albums:  
Sarah McLachlan- "Surfacing"  
Madonna- "Ray of Light"  
  
Singles:  
Sarina Paris- "Baby Look at Us"  
E Nomine- "Vater Unser"  
Sarah Brightman and Andrea Bocelli- "Time to Say Goodbye"  
Evanescence- "Imaginary"  
Malice Mizer- "Gekka No Yakusokyou"  
Bjork- "Bachelorette" and "Dancer in the Dark"  
  
**** 


	19. Confusing Concoction

Disclaimer: Any and all characters and the world to which they belong do not belong to me. Established, yes? Good, moving on.   
  
Author's Notes: Two hours into 2003 and I'm still up writing. Pretty good way to start the new year although a kiss would have been nice, too. I hope everyone else had a sexier celebration;) As always, I very much appreciate all the feedback on this story. Also, as a side note, this story is now also available at www.portkey.org, although I will still keep updating here for the time being. If you're looking for a few Harry/Hermione stories that go beyond the hand-holding routine that's almost too racy for this site nowadays, check them out. Take care everyone, and have a happy new year!   
  
****  
  
An Organ of Fire  
by Kristen Elizabeth  
  
****  
  
"All right, Severus." Lupin threw an accusing glance at the man. "How do we deal with this?"   
  
"This" and a simple hand gesture to indicate it were hardly sufficient to refer to the obstacle that had successfully stopped the three wizards in their quest. A bramble of deadly sharp thorns, some big enough to slice a man in half and others small enough to slide underneath a single layer of skin, stretched from the misty edge of the moor all the way up the slope to the front door of Malfoy Manor. Combined with the rain of the thunderstorm that cloaked the moon's light, it was a challenge not to be taken lightly.   
  
Snape blinked rain out of his eyes, frowning. "This was not here the last time I was."   
  
"It's new," Harry spoke up, fingering the scalpel-sharp edge of one long barb. "Put here for a single purpose." He ignored the thin ribbon of blood that ran down his palm. "To keep me occupied."   
  
Lupin didn't need to speculate on the reasons why Malfoy might want to keep Harry busy for as long as possible. There was little doubt that the younger wizard had gone over all the things that could possibly be happening to the woman he loved a million times; he didn't need any help there. Licking his wet lips, Lupin looked up at the house, so close and yet so far away. "So..." he began.  
  
Harry withdrew his wand from his dark green robes. "Diffindo!" The branches closest to him split in a flash of sparks, creating a narrow passage through their midst. He looked back at his companions. "We go in anyway."   
  
He took the lead with Lupin following him and Snape taking up the rear. As best he could guess, the house lay a half-mile away, a ten minute walk if not for the irritating jungle of thistles. He had no plan beyond getting through it as unscathed as possible, but all too soon he realized he would have to form one. The thorns grew thicker and all too soon he had completely lost sight of the manor and the one square of light coming from it.   
  
Apparently noticing his hesitancy in the series of spells and charms that kept the branches open in front of them as they walked, Lupin tapped Harry on the shoulder. "We're getting somewhere, Harry, but it's nowhere near to where we want to be."   
  
"Diversionary spell." Snape's voice trailed on the storm's strong winds. "He'll have you going in circles around the house but never getting any closer."   
  
Harry's eyes narrowed. "Draco's memory is getting weak. I've been in a maze before." Without any fanfare, he placed his wand flat on his palm and it held it out in front of him. "Point me."   
  
With the makeshift compass and Lupin taking over the spell-casting in Harry's place, the trio slowly made their way closer to Malfoy Manor.  
  
"It's different than I remember," Snape said a minute later. "The entire manor...it had a friendlier air to it."   
  
"Friendly?" Harry couldn't hold in a soft snort. "The Malfoy's home? I have a hard time believing that."  
  
The Potions master brushed hair out of his eyes. "You wouldn't understand. The Malfoys were hardly a perfect lot and they certainly weren't anything resembling nice, but they were a family. And in their own peculiar way, they kept a home, just like a family. I felt welcome here with them. On false pretenses, certainly. They thought I was still loyal to...him." He took a breath. "All I'm saying is that it's different now. Reductor!" He blasted away a sharp branch that was inching its way towards his neck. "I can feel it."   
  
"Basically, the place has gone to the pits since Lucius kicked it?" Lupin's irreverent summary almost had Harry laughing in spite of himself.   
  
Snape was not quite as amused. "You wouldn't understand," he repeated.   
  
Minutes passed in silence. Snape was sulking, Lupin was fighting errant thorns and Harry was too busy concentrating on his wand as it led them closer to the dark house. Finally, the last branch was blasted out of the way and nothing lay between them and the towering, impenetrable oak and iron of the manor's front entrance.   
  
"Do we knock?" Lupin asked Harry.  
  
As if they were listening, the doors opened out to them without any prompting or human aid. There was a moment's pause as the men got their first glimpse into the dense darkness of the Malfoy home.   
  
"Apparently not," Harry replied. His wand still drawn and ready, he took a step inside. "Be prepared for anything. He's not about to make this easy for me."  
  
****  
  
"I'm going to make this easy for you." With one fluid motion, Draco swung his legs off the arm of the large chair in which he had been lounging and stood up. He approached his frozen captive with the same fluidity in his stride. "It must be absolutely killing you to be unable to speak. And while I enjoy that...and the silence..." He waved his hand; Hermione's mouth fell open. "We're running out of time." He snapped and her whole body experienced the same freeing sense of release. "I can say many things about him, but Potter is not an idiot."   
  
"He never has been." Her voice was dry; she moved her limbs experimentally as she spoke. "You've always underestimated him, Draco."  
  
Agreement was the last thing she expected, but he nodded his head to indicate it. "Perhaps I have. But no longer."   
  
She stared at the back of his blond head. "End this, Draco. It's petty and childish and...pointless. Harry and I just want to live our lives...like normal people. There's no cause for any of this!"   
  
"There's where you would be wrong, little Mudblood."   
  
"I have a name and you know it perfectly well," Hermione informed him. "I'd appreciate it if you would use it."  
  
Draco chuckled. "Haughty to the end, I see."   
  
She felt the movement in the shadows before she saw it; a moment later, Sirius appeared at Draco's side. Hermione wanted to run to him, slap his cheeks, snap him out of it...whatever it was. But to do so would have been foolish. She waited while the two men discussed something in hushed tones.   
  
"What have you done to him?" Hermione asked when Sirius moved off again. "Tell me."  
  
"Actually, I had something much more interactive involved than simply telling you." Draco's eyes gleamed. "You're thinking Imperius, aren't you?"  
  
She wet her lips. "It had crossed my mind."  
  
"Despite what the older set likes to believe, a seventh year student these days can throw off the Imperius if they have enough sense. Such is the result of war on children," he sighed, too dramatically to be sincere. "No, I have placed no curse over Sirius Black."   
  
"Just let him go," Hermione whispered. "He's never done anything to you. For that matter..." She swallowed. "Neither has Harry."  
  
The cold stare Draco turned onto her froze her blood more than his Petrificus. "You have no idea." As soon as it had vanished, his cat-with-a-fat-bowl-of-cream smile appeared again. "You expect him to burst in at any moment, don't you?" Her upturned chin answered for him. "Oh, he will. Be assured of that. But not until I'm good and ready. And when he does...let's just say I intend to have quite a surprise in store for him."  
  
"What kind...what kind of surprise?"  
  
Sirius brushed past her arm; Hermione blinked and looked at him. He was carrying a flask of something which he handed to Draco. "From one scholar to another...is there anything more satisfying than creating a potion? All the hours of work, measuring, stirring, waiting, anticipating, testing." He held the flask up to the light. "And then the ultimate satisfaction when it works and your goal is achieved."   
  
"I'd hardly call you a scholar," Hermione commented under her breath.  
  
Draco dropped his arm and advanced on her. He smelled like incense, a cloying scent that made her eyes water. "And I'd hardly call you worthy enough to judge any real wizard." His free hand shot out and he grabbed her jaw, puckering her mouth open.   
  
Hermione struggled, but was quickly subdued by Harry's godfather. He held her motionless from behind as Draco used his teeth to uncork his mysterious potion. "Come on. Take your medicine like a good little Mudblood."  
  
She attempted to whip her head from side to side, making it as difficult as possible for him. "No!" she cried out, the words muffled due to her distorted lips. "I can't...."   
  
"You truly don't have a choice." Draco tilted the flask; the thick liquid inside began sliding towards the open end.   
  
Hermione watched the potion advance towards her mouth, wild fear in her eyes. "Please! I can't have any..." She stopped. The rock and the hard place. Caught between them, unable to tell him why she couldn't drink just any old potion, she continued to struggle to get away. "Stop!! Sirius...please!!! Don't let him do this!!!"  
  
"He's not Sirius Black anymore," Draco growled, losing a bit of his cool. "And he never will be again."   
  
"What do you mean?" Her tears made her cheeks slippery; he had to fight to keep a grip on her jaw.   
  
"You'll know soon enough. But when your own personality is stripped away, you won't really care. And Harry, the famous Harry Potter, the Boy Who Wouldn't Fucking Die....he'll find a whole new Hermione when he arrives."   
  
Her eyes grew even wider. "Your potion...alters entire personalities? Makes people..."  
  
"Into who *I* want them to be. It gets inside your gut, shakes everything up. A complete makeover from the inside out...and I'm at the drawing board. Now..." Draco released her face, but only long enough to backhand her across the mouth. From the shock of the blow, Hermione's struggles ceased. "Open wide."  
  
****  
  
"It's too quiet." Harry's voice bounced around the vaulted hallway ceilings. "And too easy."   
  
Lupin sighed. "Well, now you've gone and ensured that the rest of the way won't be. Good show, Harry."  
  
The wood of his wand was slick against his sweaty palm as Harry grimaced. "It doesn't make any sense. He puts up a wall around his fortress, but then lays out the welcoming mat? Just what is he thinking?"  
  
"He's playing with you," Snape answered. "Give a little, take a little back. Put up a fight, ease up. And it's working. You're confused and your confusion will keep you off guard."   
  
"Your vote of confidence is, as always, overwhelming." His eyes closed for a moment. "I want to be able to sense her. But I can't."   
  
"He'll lead you to where she is. It's what he's brought you here to..."  
  
"Will you stop that!?" Harry burst, rounding on the older man. "Talking like you teach bloody Divination. If you know so damn much about Malfoy's moves, why aren't you in the lead here?" He pointed to the beaker of potion secured to Snape's waist. "Why don't you tell me what else you know? Useful information, not premonitory babble."   
  
Snape dropped his hand down to the beaker. "I hope against hope that what's in this jar won't have to be used. And until it's absolutely necessary..." He paused, neither for effect nor hesitation. "There are some things you should be thankful you don't know about."   
  
"Knowing anything at this point would be strategically advantageous," Harry shot back.   
  
"Not. Until. It's necessary."   
  
Lupin pulled on the sleeve of Harry's robes. "It pains me to break up a long overdue fight, but I think you should know....we're not exactly alone anymore."   
  
Harry whipped his head around. "What is it?"  
  
"All around us. Look."   
  
"I see...antiques," Harry replied. "Armor, family portraits, crests. The Malfoys are more Muggle than they'd like to..."  
  
Lupin grabbed him, pulling him out of the way as the suit of armor closest to Harry suddenly advanced, bringing a heavy silver sword crashing down onto the exact spot where his head would have been. All around them, the typical fixture of a hundred English castles were inanimate no longer, waging their own little war against the three wizards.  
  
"Battle plan, Harry?" Lupin's back was now pressed to his companions'.   
  
"Reductor!" He blasted away one empty, yet alive suit of armor. "That'll work for now."   
  
Snape followed with a similar spell. "It won't work for all of them. There's easily forty." Even as he spoke, in the place of the suit he had deal with, two new ones materialized. "Double that."  
  
"It's just another diversion," Harry called out over the sounds of Lupin's charm. "I have to get to Hermione."   
  
"Then...go, Harry." Lupin jerked his head towards the path they had been following. "We'll deal with this and you get to her."   
  
Harry hesitated, blowing away another three suits while he thought this over. "I can't just leave you two."   
  
"Harry, I've seen a lot in my lifetime. An army of armor I can handle." He smiled at James' son. "We'll join you soon."   
  
"I don't know about this..."  
  
"He wants you alone. You know this," Lupin's tone was grave. "We can take care of ourselves."   
  
Snape nodded and raised his wand. "Impedimentia!!" The suits slowed for a moment, caught in suspended animation. It was the few seconds Harry needed to escape and he took them without looking back. If he had, he would have seen a wayward sword catch Lupin in the shoulder.   
  
He ran, to where he knew not. His only thought was to keep moving, lest another suit of armor appeared, or some other obstacle of Malfoy's choosing. If Snape was right, Malfoy was leading him straight to Hermione. If his instincts were right, he needed to get there immediately. And if the pain from his scar was any gauge, it would be a battle to rival his final encounter with Voldemort.  
  
****  
  
It tasted like decayed flesh. Rotten meat. It was warm and gelatinous. And it was sliding down her throat bit by disgusting bit.   
  
Hermione gagged, spraying a healthy amount of the potion back onto the man forcing it into her. Draco leapt back; she took no small amount of pleasure in watching him recoil.   
  
"It's no good," he warned her, brushing off his robe. "I have time at my fingertips. Enough of it to force this whole thing down your pretty little throat."   
  
She continued to cough, still held in place by the stony Sirius Draco claimed to have concocted. Her heart pounded beneath her breast. Just how much had gotten into her stomach? She had no idea, and no idea what it would really do to her....or to her baby. It could be a ruse; it could simply be poison meant to kill. Was that the surprise he really had in store for Harry? Her dead body greeting him in front of the fireplace?  
  
"Black fought me, too," Draco continued. "It took nearly a whole day to get it into his system. As a dog, he has quite a set of teeth. But you..." With his thumb, he wiped potion off her lips and chin. "...have no defenses left. And until I make it so, no one is coming to your rescue."   
  
"Harry is coming," Hermione choked out the words with all the conviction left within her. "I can...feel him. I know him. And he's coming..."  
  
Draco's fingers lingered on her skin longer than necessary. "He's certainly trying. He beat my garden, left his flunkies behind to fight my army." His lips twisted up into a wicked grin. "But there's no getting past the past."  
  
"Please..." Her eyes shut, spilling hot tears over his hand. "Don't hurt him."   
  
"It won't be me hurting him." Draco lifted the potion bottle and seized her chin once more. "I'll leave that up to Harry Potter himself."   
  
Hermione fought as much as she could, but the repulsive goo was forced into her mouth despite her struggles, and all thoughts were pushed out of her mind.   
  
****  
  
Harry rounded a corner, his wand drawn and ready. Nothing was going to catch him off guard, confused or not. Although he would admit to being confused, he would not admit to what he really was and that was very, very lost.   
  
Malfoy Manor, he quickly surmised, was not a good place in which to lose one's way. There were a hundred corridors and they each looked exactly alike. But there were no more signs of moving armor, so that was at least a mild blessing. In fact, for the past ten minutes, Harry hadn't seen anything moving, except for his own reflection in the occasional mirror.   
  
He was beginning to wonder if this was another obstacle in itself.   
  
But as he came around that particular corner, Harry's entire reality suddenly changed. The world spun around him, colors and shapes molding into different colors and shapes. Before he could blink, he was no longer standing in a torch-lit hallway, but a large, airy room done in soft, muted florals. He heard giggling and turned, brandishing his wand.   
  
A four-poster bed. Clothes strewn every which way on the carpet around it. Gauze curtains only half-drawn, concealing nothing. And between the matching floral sheets, the two people he had loved most in his entire life.   
  
Making love. Together. Ron and Hermione.   
  
And there was nothing he could do to stop it. Because it had all already happened.   
  
****  
  
To Be Continued 


	20. Conjunctivitis Curse

Disclaimer: Still not JK Rowling or anyone really important in the grand scheme of things;)  
  
Author's Notes: My last update for the next few days unless things really come together and won't stop. I just need a teensy bit of a break or I'm afraid I'll burn out. Of course, now that I'm saying this, the story won't stop and I'll get back to Tallahassee and finish the entire story in one night! Well, maybe nothing that drastic. Sorry, it's one in the morning. I'm all alone with the dog and the roach I just killed with my shoe. No time for deep thoughts or comments. Enjoy the chapter. And thank you so much for your support.   
  
PS: For everyone who wants to kill Malfoy, bravo. Person who can come up with the most creative way for him to die gets a gold star;)   
  
****  
  
An Organ of Fire  
by Kristen Elizabeth  
  
****  
  
She was tired of fighting and her muscles ached with spent adrenaline. His fingernails still dug into the raw flesh of her jaw, but the pain had long since faded. He was too close to her; she could feel the muscles of his legs against hers. Sandwiched between Draco Malfoy and Sirius Black, Hermione was completely helpless to their every machination. If she only had her wand...the tables would have been more than just turned. But it was still in her robes. Back at Hogwarts.   
  
"Harry," she whispered, the taste of the latest forced mouthful of Draco's potion still strong in her mouth.   
  
"Call out for him." Draco laughed. "He can't possibly hear you."  
  
Hermione's shoulders sagged. Despite her every attempt, too much of the concoction was making it down her throat, settling into her stomach. How long would it be before it took effect, whatever the true effect might be? Minutes? Hours? "How can you hate...so much?"   
  
"Years and years of practice," he replied, smoothly. "You have no idea how long I've been waiting for this day. Waiting for everything to fall into place...to rid myself of so many thorns...so many birds with just one stone. It's almost been too much. I'm like Bronson at Christmas. Don't want to peak too soon..."  
  
It was then that she felt the evidence of his arousal pressing into her hip. The worst thing was that it had nothing to do with stimulation; he was getting off on the pure experience of holding lives in the palm of his hand. Causing pain, raping people without ever touching them sexually. "You disgust me." Her voice trembled with repulsion. "You always have."  
  
"You won't feel that way soon," Draco assured her, checking the amount of potion still in the flask. "Before you know it, you'll have a whole new take on the world. And me."  
  
Hermione spat in his face, something she had seen in a Muggle movie as a child. Just as it had shocked the recipient in that case, it caught Draco completely by surprise. He stumbled back, wiping at his eyes. Even Sirius was startled; his grip on her loosened considerably. She wasn't about to waste the chance, for it might be her only.   
  
With her last reserves of energy, Hermione made a break for the doors she had entered through. She could hear Draco behind her, yelling to Sirius, "Get her!!"  
  
She had to keep going, but the door was so far away. It was like running a mile through sand, each step seemed to hold her back more than it propelled her forward. Finally though, her fingers touched wood. Her smile was one of pure triumph.  
  
Pain wiped it off her face. From deep within her stomach she could feel lava bubbling up. Her hand fell away from the door; she clutched at her body just as Sirius grabbed her once again.   
  
"It's begun," Draco called out, his voice resounding throughout the empty hall. "Can you feel it?"   
  
Hermione tried to reply, but all that came out was a low moan. There had never been pain like this and she had endured childbirth. Childbirth. The baby. "Stop it...Draco. Make it stop. You've got to..." A sharp sensation, like a fire-forged rod being thrust through her abdomen seized her and she cried out.   
  
"That might be enough," Draco said to Sirius, ignoring her agony. "Anymore would just be overkill." He thought about this for a second, then shrugged his shoulders. "Overkill never hurt anyone."  
  
"No..." The only thing keeping her from collapsing to the floor was Sirius' arms. But they were so cold, so cruel. "No...no more. I can't....for the...for the baby. I can't."   
  
Draco stopped, flask in his hands. "The baby?" After an eternity, his lips contorted into something that resembled a smile. "Is the great Harry Potter going to be a father?"   
  
She barely heard the question, but even if she had she was in no position to be able to cover up her slip of the tongue. Quite the opposite, the potion seemed to have the effect of a Truth Serum. At the very least, it stripped away her ability to keep her internal thoughts internal.   
  
"He's already a...father." Hermione gulped for breath. Her lungs felt like anchors holding her entire respitory system down. What little light existed in the room hurt her eyes; she squeezed them shut as hard as she could. "My babies...please...let me go, Draco."   
  
Draco looked at Sirius. "Oh, what an absolutely delicious surprise!" He set the flask down and reached for Hermione's body. She winced as though punched when he pressed his hands along her lower abdomen. "Yes...I can already feel it. Very unexpected..." He threw his head back, laughing. "But a perfect opportunity to test a theory of mine." Draco released her, leaving her in Sirius' arms. "Don't worry, *Hermione.* My potion will do nothing to harm your little Mudblooded bastard. At least...I don't think it will. And the pain will soon pass for you, too." He returned to his chair, dropping into it like a king into his throne. "But for Potter...I'm afraid it's only just begun."   
  
Just because the entire situation pleased him so much, he began to laugh once again.   
  
****  
  
For months, he had recognized, managed to accept, and ultimately laid to rest within the furthest reaches of his brain the knowledge that Ron and Hermione had been married and, thereby, sexually involved. She had told him herself, they had tried hard to have a baby together. Having a baby meant...  
  
Harry shook his head vigorously, but the thought wouldn't go away. Perhaps because it wasn't just a thought. The reality he had tried to forget existed was being acted out before his very eyes. He was in hell, an unwilling witness to his best friend and the woman they had in common. All he could do was turn his back, and refuse to look at them. But what he couldn't see...he could still hear.   
  
"Stop it," Harry said to no one in particular. To the lovers entwined in the bed, to Malfoy who had to be responsible for this blast from the past that he hadn't been present for the first time around. They didn't....couldn't hear him, and so continued their private act.   
  
She sounded different with Ron. He was torn between male pride that he could bring out something different in her than Ron had....and the panic that perhaps what she had felt with Ron was better than anything he could give her. Harry fought this battle in his head until the sounds began to slow down. Groans gave way to sighs and sighs culminated in a long period of silence, save for the gradual descent of heavy breathing.   
  
Just when Harry thought the nightmare might be over, she spoke.  
  
"I've been thinking. About what you said earlier."   
  
There was the moist sound of lips pressing against skin in a soft kiss. "Refresh my memory, love. I seem to have lost it."   
  
She laughed, a noise that hurt Harry worse than her moans of pleasure. "You asked me to marry you."   
  
"Oh yeah..." The sheets rustled. "I did, didn't I?"  
  
"Yes."   
  
He could hear Ron fluffing up a pillow. "So, what do you say?"  
  
"I just said it. Are you going to make me repeat it again, Ronald Weasley?"   
  
Instead of joy, a pause followed this. "Hermione. I need you to be sure about this. Because I am. I am so serious about this...like I haven't ever been about anything else in my life. But if you need more time..."  
  
"I don't need anymore time." Hermione cleared her throat delicately. "He's not coming back, Ron."  
  
"You don't know that. He could walk through that door right now and..."  
  
She cut him off firmly. "No, he won't. His life has gone on. Now it's time for my life to, as well." More sheets rustled. "Do you love me?"  
  
"I do," he whispered. "You and little Harry...so much."   
  
"We love you, too. I love..." She stopped. "...the sound of 'Hermione Weasley'. Don't you?"   
  
"I don't know. Sounds rather like a rare sort of rash to me."   
  
Harry closed his eyes at the soft thump of her pillow against Ron's face. There was laughter, loud and joyous. And then....quiet. His eyes opened tentatively. But instead of the floral wallpaper, all he saw was dull white plaster. He frowned. What was going on now?   
  
A scream shattered the silence and he whipped around. The four-poster love nest had been replaced with a metal-lined operating table. People in white scrubs milled about it, as oblivious to him as Ron and Hermione had been. Harry's head throbbed from the buzz of voices and the series of low, painful cries.   
  
The crowd of medical personnel parted and Harry caught a glimpse of what their attention was focused on...and the source of the screaming.   
  
"Hermione..." He moved forward, but only made it a few steps closer before his feet refused to do his bidding. Frozen to the spot, Harry watched the labor he had never known was taking place when it had.   
  
It was hard to look past the blood-rush of red on her face, the glistening sweat, the corded throat muscles and see his beautiful Hermione, but she was there even through the trial of creating life. He tore his stare away from her and looked around. Ron's face wasn't among those attending to her. She was alone in a sea of unfamiliar doctors and nurses.   
  
"All right, sweetie, relax," one of them told her. "You're doing just great. Won't be much longer."   
  
There were tears on her cheeks now, mixing with the sweat to drip down her slender neck. "It hurts..." she cried. "It really hurts..."  
  
"I know." The same nurse blotted her forehead. "But it's worth it. You'll see."   
  
Hermione shook her head from side to side against the hospital pillows. "I want... I want..." She seemed unable to get the words out.  
  
"What, love? Ice chips? Do you need to use the loo?"   
  
"I want Harry." Her sobs turned into whimpers. "I want Harry."   
  
Was it possible to feel one's own heart breaking inside one's chest? Harry Potter now believed so. His lay in a million pieces, shattered by the impossible weight of guilt and remorse. He hadn't been there when she had needed him. It was as simple and as damning as that.  
  
The nurse stood up. "The young man outside? I'll get him for you."  
  
Hermione tried to stop her, but she was already gone. A moment later, she returned with a very worried Ron. He was dressed haphazardly in Muggle clothes and looked as out of place as an apple in a bowl of oranges. Harry watched him go to her and take her hand.   
  
"Hermione, it's okay. Shh..." He bent down to kiss her damp brow. "Don't cry...please, don't cry."   
  
"Harry..."  
  
Ron folded her hand up in both of his. "I'm sorry. I know I'm not him. But I'm here. I won't go anywhere; I promise."   
  
Her sobs slowed and her entire, tortured body relaxed as much as it could. Harry shut his eyes again, for all the good it would do. When he opened them again, the scene had changed once more. The hospital room had been replaced by another bedroom, a child's bedroom similar to little Harry's at Hogwarts.   
  
His head had throbbed before; now it pounded. There seemed to be no order to these memories that were being forced onto him. This room's bed was narrow, just big enough for a child, but when he really focused, he could see Hermione and their son lying on it, wrapped in a maternal embrace. He was close enough to see tearstains on their faces.   
  
Hermione's chin rested on the boy's rusty locks. "Ron wanted me to pick another name. Joseph or William or Ted. Something...that was yours only. But I wanted 'Harry'."  
  
"Why, Mum?" The boy's voice sounded even younger.   
  
"I've always liked the name," she replied a second later. "But whatever you were called, he loved you from the first time he held you. You have to know that, Harry."   
  
Little Harry nodded against the swell of her chest. "I do." He sniffed. "Mum...I don't want to go to the funeral tomorrow."   
  
"It's up to you." Hermione's eyes shut from grief and exhaustion. "But let me ask you this. Would you want your dad to come and say goodbye to you?" When her son nodded, she opened them again. "Then...I think you know what's best."   
  
"I just don't want to put him in the ground on that cliff," little Harry explained. "We won't be able to go to see him whenever we want."   
  
She rocked him as she spoke, "We're going to be with him from now on. He'll be at Hogwarts...and so will we."   
  
"I miss him, Mum!" The boy turned his face into his mother's neck, little sobs racking his thin frame.   
  
Hermione's own tears came, fresh and hot. "I miss him, too. I miss...a lot of things...that I can't ever have again."  
  
"Damn you to hell," Harry cursed between his teeth. "Malfoy...I swear...I will kill you and I will enjoy it. Do you hear me?!!" He spread his arms. "Are you getting off on this?! Stringing me through time like your fucking puppet?!! Making me see..." Harry's face scrunched up in emotional anguish. Chunks of his soul had been ripped away from him. "Making me see....what I made happen." His hands clutched his knees as he tried to keep from crumpling to the ground. Doubled over, it was all Harry could do to keep air going in and out of his lungs.   
  
When he finally managed to straighten, he looked up as though he were caught in a plastic bubble and his tormentor was looking down at him. "Show's over," he growled. "The puppet's done dancing. If you want to fight, fight. Quit hiding behind your powers and face me. Do you hear me, you fucking prat?! Come out and fight me!!!"   
  
The last words were screamed with so much fervor that Harry couldn't see straight for several seconds. And then, when he could, he wished he couldn't again.   
  
He wasn't in any bedroom or hospital delivery room. Neither was he in the corridor any longer. He was now in a long hall, warm from twin fires burning at either end. And he was no longer alone.   
  
"Welcome," a coldly amused voice greeted him. Before he could blink, the owner of the voice stepped out of the shadows. "We've been waiting for you."  
  
Harry's first instinct was to raise his wand, but Malfoy was quicker. With a wave of his hand, he froze Harry's arm at a ninety degree angle to his body. "Play nice," Draco warned. "Or else you won't get your surprise."   
  
"Where's Hermione? I want to see Hermione and I want to see my godfather and I want to see them right now," Harry hissed, struggling to move his petrified arm.   
  
"By all means." Draco stepped aside with a great sweeping gesture fanning his robes around his body. Behind him, Harry could see what he had requested to see.   
  
Sirius was holding Hermione's limp body. He didn't move, didn't even blink until Draco motioned to him. "Sirius...wake her up. We've got company."   
  
Too confused to have any sort of reaction, Harry was once again thrust into the role of witness as Sirius shook Hermione until she stirred. He set her down on her feet; she rubbed her eyes and looked down the length of the room towards Harry. "What is he doing here?" she asked.  
  
Draco held out his hand to her. "He's come to rescue you." A moment passed like hours for Harry.   
  
Hermione took his offered hand and molded the length of her side against his, clinging to him like he was the last piece of flotsam in a stormy sea. "I don't need to be rescued. Harry Potter...go home."   
  
****  
  
To Be Continued 


	21. Serpensortia

Disclaimer: Characters and universe belong to JK Rowling and several large publishing companies and film houses with much more money and many more lawyers than I could ever hope to have.  
  
Author's Notes: I couldn't pick who had the most creative Malfoy death, cause they were all fun to think about, so I decided to give everyone who's ever reviewed this story a gold star. Thank you so much; you've made me want to keep writing during some times when I've felt like giving up. I hope you keep tuning in and enjoying, no matter what;)   
  
Oh, and it's been noted that I've switched Lupin and Black's personalities from what we see in the books. I figure that Azkaban permenantly changed Sirius; he will never be James' fun-loving, prankster friend again. And in this story, I've given Lupin a whole new lease on life and a woman in America who loves him. Therefore, he can let the playful parts of his own personality out. That's all my justifications anyways. Hopefully, it's mildly believable;) On with the story!  
  
****  
  
An Organ of Fire  
by Kristen Elizabeth  
  
****  
  
He had just been thinking that what they really needed were swords. Against the ever-regenerating army of silver soldiers, he and Severus had only their wits and their wands. Weapons in their own right, surely, but now that it was only the two of them and Harry had disappeared into the darkness of the manor, they required something a little more substantial to keep Malfoy's diversion at bay.   
  
A sword. Just what Lupin wanted at that exact moment. And it was a sword that he received...only through the sinewy flesh of his left shoulder.   
  
"Fuck!!" he screamed, reflexively grasping the protruding blade for balance. With his foot, he pushed away the suit of armor attached to it. "Severus..."  
  
Snape hit the suit with a quick spell; it disintegrated before their eyes. "Are you hurt?"  
  
"I have a fucking sword through my shoulder!!"   
  
Instead of sympathy, he got calm thinking even as the other wizard kept fighting back the suits. "How deep is it?"   
  
Lupin could already feel sweat gathering on his forehead; the pain was incredible. "Deep enough." He forced himself to draw in a huge breath. "But not all the way through, I don't think."   
  
Snape glanced at him before returning his attention to their enemy. "Pulling it out might do more damage than the blade itself."   
  
"Do you suggest I spend the rest of my life with this...accessory?" Lupin stumbled; with the sword plugging up the wound, only a small amount of blood soaked his robes, but it was enough to begin affecting his equilibrium. "It's gotta come out, Severus..." He gestured with his good hand. "You need my help."  
  
Snape snorted. "I need no one's help." Pausing to muster as much energy as possible, he lunged forward with his wand. "Adsulto circumvado!" The remaining suits exploded in time with one another, sending showers of sparks onto the two wizards. A second later, there was silence. They were alone again in Malfoy Manor.   
  
Momentarily forgetting his shoulder, Lupin gave his old schoolmate an amazed look. "Saving that one up, were you?"  
  
"It's been years since I've been in a good battle." Snape pocketed his wand and reached for the sword. "Brace yourself."  
  
"I thought you said..." He gritted his teeth against the burning pain. "...this would be...a bad idea."   
  
Snape shrugged. "If you want to keep it as a souvenir, that's fine with me."   
  
"I didn't mean that," Lupin snapped back. His knees felt weak, but he would be damned before he let Severus Snape see him falter. "Just...take it easy. Slow. Bit by bit and..." His word ended in an animalistic roar of pain as Snape yanked the sword out of his shoulder and immediately squeezed the torn flesh to stop the fresh flow of blood. "Fuck!! You goddamn, bloody son of a...I told you to go slow!!"   
  
"We don't have the time." Snape reached into his robes and withdrew a tiny vial of yellowish liquid. He pushed aside the blood-soaked layers of Lupin's robes to get at the wound and when he had a clear view, he let a few drops of the liquid fall directly into it. "This will close it up for now."   
  
Lupin couldn't believe how quickly the pain faded to a dull throb. "What is that stuff?"   
  
"Just something handy to have around."  
  
"You know...you're a slimy git..." He had a hard time pushing out the next words. Childhood convictions were hard to overcome, even as a seasoned adult. "But you're not half bad to have around in a battle."   
  
"You're welcome." Snape's reply was prosaic; he returned the vial to his pockets and took out his wand. "Can you move your arm?"  
  
"A little." Lupin winced as he demonstrated, all the while looking up and down the hallway. "Should we go the direction Harry took?"   
  
The other man shook his head. "It would be useless to try and catch up to him now." He pointed to the path Harry hadn't taken. "We'll go this way. It'll get us there."  
  
"Get us where?"   
  
"The light we saw...it could only be coming from the main hall. That's where we'll find them." Snape started walking, not bothering to check and see if his companion was following.   
  
Lupin jogged to keep up, holding one hand over his wound. The blood had been stopped and the pain minimized, but it was still raw flesh, open and exposed to the cool air. "You might've told Harry that. Made it easier on him."   
  
"I didn't think of it at the time," Snape replied, almost regretfully. "There's a secret passage. Lucius showed me once; it was designed for shelter in ancient times if the manor ever came under attack. If it's not been boarded up, it'll take us straight there. We can catch Draco by surprise."   
  
"And where exactly in the hall does this passage open up?"   
  
Snape hesitated. "The fireplace."   
  
"Brilliant," Lupin muttered, still following the potions master. "I've been stabbed already. What's a few third-degree burns to round out the evening?"   
  
****  
  
He couldn't stop remembering the last night they had spent together, the night before the Dark Mark appeared over Hogwarts, the night Lupin had reappeared in their lives and everything had seemed like it might eventually be all right once again.   
  
The light of the full moon had woken them up. Pure, white luminescence shining through the window, creeping up and over their sleeping bodies until it urged them to open their eyes. She had never looked more beautiful than she did when caught up in its glow, her hair spread out over her pillow. Her tongue had circled her lips, wetting them, making them glisten. He hadn't been able to hold himself back, hadn't wanted to. Her arms had opened to him and he took the invitation with pleasure.   
  
She couldn't hide anything from him when they were joined like that; her face was always a page on which everything going through her mind was plainly displayed. He read her like she would devour a book. Harry could never tear his eyes away from hers until it was absolutely necessary, when they both came to the edge of the cliff and there was nothing to do but cling to one another and tumble over it. Consequently, he had memorized every expression her lovely face could possibly compose.   
  
So he knew two things right away. The person clinging to their worst enemy was definitely Hermione.   
  
But looking at her in the moments after he was drawn into Malfoy's presence was like looking at a stranger with the face of someone you used to know. Everything about the person standing in front of Harry was his Hermione. Her thick hair, her petal-soft skin, the smattering of freckles across her nose. But her eyes... He was familiar with every thread of color set into her irises, every fleck of gold, every twinkle. He shivered when her blank stare met his. Everything he knew so well was gone.   
  
Her eyes alone told him the other thing. This was no act.   
  
"Why don't you have a seat, Potter," Draco said, peeling Hermione away from his body. He snapped his fingers and a chair materialized directly behind Harry, knocking into the backs of his knees and sending him flopping down into the seat. He moved to stand up again, but Draco was too quick. Harry felt the Binding Spell take ahold of him like invisible shackles keeping his legs and arms motionless. "There. That's better."  
  
Harry struggled. He thought he had felt rage before, but nothing compared to this new twist in Malfoy's perverted game. "Undo whatever you've done to them," he said, his voice low. "It's me you want. Not them."   
  
"That's where you'd be wrong." Draco cupped Hermione's chin in the palm of his hand; she smiled at him. "I'm enjoying my new toys. They're fun to play with."   
  
"Don't touch her again," Harry warned him. His stare cut into the other wizard like cold, green glass. "Get your hands off of her, Malfoy."  
  
"But she likes it so much..." He released her with a hard pat to her cheek. Hermione just kept smiling. "Enough of that." Draco approached Harry's chair. "So...why have I gone through all this trouble just to bring you here tonight?"   
  
Harry lifted his shoulders as much as he could. "Overcompensating for something?"   
  
"You'd like to think that, wouldn't you?" Draco shot back. "Ah, well. It doesn't matter. You'll know soon enough."   
  
"Know what?" Harry asked, laughing suddenly. "What is there to find out? I already know that you're a jealous, spoiled little wizard dressed up in robes that are too big for you. You can't be your own person, so you've latched onto Voldemort's persona. You think you're being clever by enchanting my godfather and my...my best friend." He paused. "I can feel sorry for you for all of that, Malfoy. That you feel this intense need to prove yourself to me. But what you did to Ron...that's what you'll pay for. Because don't think your little binding spell is going to keep me down for long. I've faced evil and you couldn't come even close to its depths if you tried for another hundred years." His hair fell over his forehead; to look up at Malfoy, he had to peer through it. "Why don't you just grow up?"   
  
The speech was intended to bait Malfoy, but all he did was plant a hand on each of the arms of the chair Harry had been forced into. He leaned in until his nose almost touched Harry's. "Just you wait. When the time is right...you're going to choke on those words."   
  
Draco straightened up. "Get over here," he ordered Hermione. She obeyed, even going so far as to let him slide an arm around her waist. Harry couldn't subdue a hot stab of rage. It's not her will, he kept telling himself. If she could, she'd have already shriveled his balls with a single hex. Draco turned his face into Hermione's hair. "She could be all right," he said. "Once she's cleaned up, of course. You can't ever wash all the Muggle off of her, but it could almost be fun to roll in the dirt every now and then. Wouldn't you agree?" He pulled back. "What am I saying? You already know, don't you?"   
  
"None of this has anything to do with Hermione. You don't find her sexually attractive; you could only ever get off on what touching her would do to me," Harry replied as evenly as possible.   
  
"Are you saying she's not desirable? Potter, I'm shocked." He chuckled. "Hear that, love? He says you're not sexually attractive."   
  
Hermione rested her cheek on Draco's shoulder. "It only matters what you think."   
  
"Ah, what nice words to hear, even from a knocked-up little Mudblood." Harry's face paled instantly. "I've never liked children. Even when I was one. But...I somehow got stuck with a brat to raise. And Bronson's fine. His blood is as pure as it comes." He delighted in watching Harry's reaction when he knelt in front of Hermione and placed a hand on her lower belly. "But raising Harry Potter's bastard...the universe couldn't have thought up a nicer surprise for me. After all these years..." Draco cleared his throat and stood back up. "It's too bad you won't be around to see the child, Potter. I bet she'll look just like you. Not that I'll hold it against her."   
  
Some sort of super human strength pumped through Harry's body as Draco spoke about his unborn child. His muscles flexed and he felt something pop. His left arm...it was free of the spell! He kept it still, steeling his expression to remain fixed while he worked to break the rest of Draco's spell. Keep him talking...buy yourself some time, his brain yelled at him.   
  
"It looks like you've got everything laid out for you, Malfoy. I just have one question." Harry paused for effect, but in reality, he could feel the invisible chains on his right arm loosening. "Why *are* you going to so much trouble? Attacking the school on Halloween, conjuring the Dark Mark, finding your way through the Hogwarts barriers, steering the Governors to rid the school of Muggles...murdering Ron. What's it all for? I can't believe that you're just going to kill me without taking the opportunity to gloat."   
  
Draco pushed Hermione away; she walked back over to Sirius to wait for his next bidding. "'What's it all for?' Come on, Potter. Don't be dense. The goal of any pureblood worth his weight should be to eliminate the Muggle infestation. It certainly hasn't been an easy thing. But it's always been foremost on my mind. And you should know that...better than anyone else alive."   
  
"Spoken like a true Voldemort groupie." Both of his arms were free now, but even with the ability to raise his wand, which Malfoy had neglected to remove from his petrified hand, without the use of his legs, he wouldn't get very far in an attack.   
  
"As for getting rid of Weasley..." Draco drawled, removing his wand from his robes to finger the length of it. "That was just fun. A little wave of this and it all came tumbling down. One more thorn removed."   
  
Harry's stomach turned. "That's all he was to you, wasn't he? Just a thorn. You spent seven years in school with us...through classes and Quidditch and detentions and trips to Hogsmeade and graduation...and still, you have no problems blighting any one of us out of existence."   
  
"None."  
  
"You're sick, Malfoy."   
  
Draco let out the strangest sigh, plunging a hand through his slick, blond hair. "Sick, yes. Sick *of* Malfoy." He shook his head. "If you cared so much about your dearly departed friend, why did you up and disappear ten years ago?"   
  
"I have nothing to explain to you," Harry replied. His left foot was free.   
  
"Neither do I to you. I've done what I...what great wizards have been trying to do for years. Centuries, even. I've made the first steps towards Purification. The biggest steps. And after everything I've been put through..." Draco smiled coldly. "My time has come."   
  
Just one leg to go... Harry fixed a curious stare onto the other wizard. "Have you ever heard of a Muggle named Adolph Hitler?" He continued without waiting for an answer. "All he wanted was a pure race of people. And he did anything, killed anyone and everyone to achieve his goal."   
  
"I'm bored, Potter. Your point is...?"  
  
"He almost succeeded. Almost. But do you know what happened to him in the end?" The hold on his right leg lifted; Harry nearly broke into a wide grin. "He died in a ditch. Covered in petrol. On fire. Giddy."   
  
At this, Harry shot out of the chair, thrusting his wand out in front of him. "Conjunctivitis!!"   
  
The curse hit Draco directly in his eyes. He screamed and grabbed at his face. His wand clattered to the floor, forgotten through the blinding pain of Harry's spell. "Potter...." he roared.   
  
Harry scooped up the wand and ran as fast as he could to Sirius and Hermione. After tucking the wands loosely into his robes, he grabbed them both by their arms. "We're getting out of here now!"   
  
Sirius yanked his arm out of Harry's grip. Hermione followed suit. "Draco hasn't said we can go."   
  
"Snap out of it!" Harry yelled. "Fight him...both of you. You're strong! I know you can do it." He grasped Hermione's slender shoulders. "Do it, Hermione. For the baby...if not for me."   
  
Across the room, Draco still clawed away at his eyes. Unable to see much of anything, he had dropped down to his knees, searching for his wand.   
  
Hermione watched him struggle, a frown on her face. "You hurt his eyes."   
  
"It doesn't matter!" Harry carefully shook her. "Hermione...come on!!" The gentle shaking motion knocked the two wands out of his robes. Licking his lips, Harry released Hermione to retrieve them. As he straightened back up, he took his first good look at Draco's wand. "What the...?" He lifted his stare from the object to look at Draco. "How the bloody fuck did you get this?!" He took a step away from Hermione and Sirius. "Another part of the Malfoy collection, is it?! Answer me!!"  
  
On the floor, Draco laughed harder than Harry had ever heard him laugh before. "You still don't get it, do you? For all your fame and all your supposed cleverness...you're far stupider than your red-haired friend ever was!" Dragging himself to his feet, Draco continued. His teeth were bared, white and sharp. "He figured it out. And he had to be eliminated. Couldn't have him blabbing to the world, could I? It wasn't time yet. But...I think....now it is." He raised his hand. "Finally...after everything you've done to me...I get to kill you. Harry Potter."   
  
****  
  
Lupin sneezed once. Then twice. At the onslaught of the third sneeze, Snape turned on him. "Why don't you just toot a horn and announce 'we're coming!'?" he whispered loudly.   
  
"Why don't *you* just concentrate on where we're going and let me worry about my own allergies?" He sniffed and glanced around the cramped, dusty corridor. "Draco must not know about this passage. Doesn't seem like anyone's been here in...in..." He pulled up a corner of his robes to muffle a great sneeze. "Ages," he finished.   
  
Snape ignored him. "We must be getting closer. I don't remember walking too long when Lucius took me through..."  
  
"Shh!" Lupin held up a hand. "Do you hear that?"   
  
The two men listened for a long moment. "Voices," the other man finally said. "Just up a few feet."   
  
They covered the short distance in no time, and Lupin even managed to hold back an impending sneeze. It was too imperative that they be silent; even his allergies seemed aware of that. The muffled conversation grew louder until they reached their goal. The final end of the secret passage, a brick overlay that dissected the hall.   
  
"The back of the fireplace," Snape said "Feel how warm it's gotten?"   
  
Lupin nodded. "How do we open it?"   
  
His former schoolmate answered by taping his wand on the center brick and saying, "Reveal." The bricks vanished and they were confronted with the massive fire burning in the main hall. "Get down." At Snape's order, he and Lupin flattened themselves to the floor and lowered their heads.   
  
Through the flames, they could see Draco rising to his feet. He was speaking, but through the crackle of the fire and with his back turned to them, they were unable to make out his words. Shifting slightly to the right, Lupin caught a glimpse of Harry holding two wands, a horrified look on his face.   
  
"I can't see much," he whispered. "But Harry doesn't appear to be hurt."   
  
"Quiet." Snape flicked his wand, muttering a quick spell. Within seconds, the volume of the conversation taking place in the room had magnified ten-fold.   
  
"Do you understand now why I've gone to so much trouble, as you put it? Actually, it's really not far more than anything I've done in the past. Only this time...I will succeed. You will not steal revenge or power or glory from me again!!" Draco cried.   
  
Harry shook his head back and forth. "It's not...not possible." His hand raised to cover his forehead; there was pain written on his face. "You can't be...I...I killed him."   
  
"Keep the wand, Harry. It's not important to me anymore. And it belongs with yours, anyway."   
  
"Stop! Stop talking like you're..." The Boy-Who-Lived pointed his wand at his adversary, his eyes burning red. "You're not him!!! You're just Draco Malfoy. Nothing less and certainly nothing more!!"   
  
The blond wizard held out his hands, displaying to the fullest his black-marked robes. "My past, my present..." He threw his head back. "And my future. Make no mistake, Harry Potter. I am Voldemort."  
  
****   
  
To Be Continued  
  
PS: The bit about Hitler was greatly influenced by Eddie Izzard, another genius English entertainer. 


	22. Stupefy

Disclaimer: I am a writer of fan fiction. I possess nothing but an active imagination.   
  
Author's Notes: Thank you to everyone who takes the time to read and understand this story. And thanks to everyone with enough intelligence to see the humor in Eddie Izzard's history lesson sketches. To anyone who didn't get it, as the English would say, bugger off. For those of us who think freely, it's okay to make fun of psychotic killers. All SNL did last season was make fun of Osama bin Laden and they won an Emmy. I apologize to anyone who doesn't know why I'm going on about mass murderers. Enjoy the story!! Sorry it's a short chapter; a longer one will follow soon.  
  
****  
  
An Organ of Fire  
by Kristen Elizabeth  
  
****  
  
"Hagrid!"   
  
Out of breath from his hasty hike up the stairs, Hagrid burst into little Harry's bedroom. "What's the matter, 'arry?"  
  
Harry and Hermione's son was sitting up on his bed, fully clothed and wide awake. It had only been an hour since Hagrid had urged him to get some sleep, but the only thing that had come to him when he closed his green eyes had been dreams. Nightmares.   
  
He scrambled out of bed. "Father! He's in trouble, Hagrid!"   
  
The half-giant's body formed a shield at the door to his bedroom, preventing the child from running out of it. "Woah! 'old on there, lad. Jus' where do yer think yer goin'?"   
  
"Father needs my help, Hagrid. We don't have any time; we've got to get to him!"  
  
Hagrid bent over as much as he could to see the boy better. His aged face was sympathetic. "I know yer want ter help yer Mum 'n Dad, but also know yer haft ter stay here."   
  
Little Harry shook his head. "You don't understand, Hagrid! Dad told me!! My father is in danger!!"   
  
The sympathy on Hagrid's features morphed into worry. "Whatev'r it is, yer parents kin handle it. But only if they know yer here and yer safe."  
  
"But Hagrid..."  
  
"'arry." His voice was gentle, but firm.   
  
"No! I have to help Father!!" With quick movements, little Harry attempted to dart around Hagrid's girth.   
  
It pained Hagrid to do it, but reason just wasn't working. A very simple spell and only a minute later, little Harry was back in his bed and fast asleep. But in his head, there were only visions of snakes and sorcerers.  
  
****  
  
"For twenty-eight long years you've thwarted me at every turn. I couldn't make a move without you, somehow, being right there with some sort of countermove. You have been the ultimate thorn and I have long dreamed of this day."   
  
Harry took a step back. He still wasn't ready to accept what this...person with the face of Draco Malfoy was saying. He knew what had happened on the far edge of the Forbidden Forest, that warm spring night, a week before his graduation from Hogwarts. He had diminished Voldemort to nothing but his robes.   
  
Hadn't he?   
  
Thinking back now, his mistakes washed over him. He hadn't checked the robes out, hadn't even taken the time to notice if his enemy's wand had disintegrated along with him. But he had been so out of it. Bloody and worn down; he could remember Hermione and Ron dragging him back to the castle. Madam Pomfrey had told him later that it had taken all her medical know-how to get him to wake up at all. Cursing Voldemort into oblivion had drained him almost completely.   
  
But now it seemed as though that sacrifice might have been nothing at all.   
  
"How?" Harry cut off his adversary's diatribe with the biting question. "If you're...him...how? And where...what happened to Malfoy? Is he locked up somewhere...providing hairs for your Polyjuice Potion? Or do you exist within him like with Professor Quirrell?"   
  
"Don't rush me, Potter. This is a moment I deserve to cherish."   
  
"You don't expect me to just believe you because you say you're Voldemort, do you? Without any proof?" Harry sucked in a breath. "There were four people in those woods that night and only three of us walked away."   
  
Whatever was within Draco shook his head. "No, Potter, no. There weren't four people in the woods that night. There were five. You, the Mudblood, Weasley, myself..." He smiled. "And Draco Malfoy."   
  
"What?"  
  
"He wanted to watch you die. So I let him hide in the bushes; what could it hurt? He was ready to receive the Mark. Acted as if the whole thing were some sort of coming of age ceremony. I've never lacked for followers, Potter, but the Malfoys have always been the most loyal. Whatever I need, they've been more than willing to provide." The blond man wiped at his eyes; Harry's earlier curse was now just a lingering annoyance. "When you hit me with that final curse, you did succeed in obliterating my body. But just like when you were a baby, you couldn't kill my essence."   
  
Harry swallowed; his throat stuck with the effort. "So you..."  
  
"Called on my closest follower. I don't even think it was a hard decision for him to make."   
  
"Draco...he...oh god..."  
  
Voldemort, as Harry had come to think of him in those short minutes, folded his arms over his chest "Draco Malfoy has been dead for eleven years. I have lived his life. Raised the child he foolishly created. Married the simpering witch who let him up her robes....and subsequently got rid of her just as Draco himself would have eventually done once she outgrew her youth. And the only close calls I've ever had in all this time as him have been with his own father....and when a certain red-haired Auror started poking his bloody nose where it didn't belong."   
  
"You killed them both, then." Harry put a hand to his stomach. "And now that I know...you'll kill me, too. Just like them."  
  
"Harry, Harry, Harry. You know you're the one I want to kill the most."   
  
There was the solidity of a wall behind him; Harry grabbed for it to steady his knees. It was too much information to take in at once. Draco was dead; Voldemort had been masquerading as him...as far back as their Hogwarts graduation. With his own death, Draco had done more damage than he ever could have if he had lived. And it was then that Harry realized something even more frightening.   
  
He should have known all along.   
  
The amount of power "Draco" supposedly had. The vicious nature of the attacks, both physical and verbal. The pain from his scar. He had ignored his first instincts and allowed himself to be coerced into believing the same thing everyone else believed. The thing that Arthur Weasley had spoken about only weeks earlier. Harry Potter had fallen into the trap he himself had created.   
  
The giant task in front of him now was getting out of it.   
  
Harry glanced back at Hermione and Sirius. They hadn't shown any visible signs of reaction to any of the startling revelations. Whatever Draco had done to them was insanely powerful magic. "Hermione..." he said softly. "I need your help."  
  
"She's not yours anymore," Voldemort taunted him. "She didn't do it willingly like Draco, but her existence belongs to me now. I control her." As if to prove this, called to her. "Hermione, get my wand back from him."   
  
Quick as she could, Hermione grabbed Harry's arm in a tight grip and plucked Voldemort's wand from his hand. "Thank you," she told him before starting back over to the other wizard's side.   
  
Voldemort accepted the wand and pulled her onto his lap. "Sometimes, I get these urges, Potter. I suppose it could be some of Draco lingering around in here, but there are times when I just really want..." His fingers came to rest on Hermione's stocking-clad knee. "Well...you know."   
  
"She'll never let you." Harry shook his head. "Spell or not, Hermione is her own person. Sirius, too."   
  
"Oh, really?" The Dark Lord snorted. "Sirius Black. Bloody your godson up a little for me, will you?"   
  
Harry had no time to react before the first punch caught him in the jaw.   
  
****  
  
"Fuck." Lupin sat back on his heels against the corridor wall, careful to keep his head down and hidden behind the fire. "Fuck. Fuck. Fuck. Fu..."  
  
"Stop," Snape ordered him. "You're not doing anything but wasting breath." He looked back into the hall. Sirius had Harry up against the wall, his fist making repeated contact with the younger man's stomach.   
  
"Voldemort is still, technically, alive, and you're not panicking?"   
  
The dark-haired man gave him a look. "I've suspected this for some time. But I had no proof. And no one would have believed vague suspicions."   
  
Lupin winced; he could hear cartilage breaking even through the sounds of the fireplace. "We've got to get in there and help Harry, Severus."   
  
"I realize this." Snape pulled the beaker of potion he had concocted earlier out of his robes.  
  
"Are you ready to tell me what that stuff is?"   
  
"It's a counter-potion," the man explained. "When we first found out about Black and the governors' decree, I started thinking about possible explanations. Whatever signed the paper had to be Black; the handwriting was his. It was a long time before I remembered something from my..." He hesitated. "...my darker days."   
  
Lupin staved off a sneeze. "And that was...?"  
  
"In the days before...Lily and James were killed, Voldemort was working on a new potion. The Imperius Curse was too difficult to maintain on so many people. He needed something lasting. Something that could completely alter a personality, but not require any maintenance. What he came up with..." Snape indicated the main hall. "...you can see out there."   
  
"If that's true, why didn't you tell Dumbledore years ago?"   
  
Snape lifted his shoulders. "Lingering shame? At first, after I realized what had gotten into Black, I just thought Draco must have heard of the potion from his father and worked it himself. He was actually very good at potions when he applied himself. But within the past few days..."  
  
"All right, I get it. Since you're so much smarter than the rest of us, Severus, what's our next move?"   
  
His eyes narrowed, Snape swirled the thick mixture around in the beaker. "We have to get a good amount of this down Hermione and Black. It should return them to their normal selves."   
  
"How do you suggest we do that?"   
  
Snape blinked. "I have no idea."  
  
****  
  
Hermione watched Sirius' foot slam into Harry's ribs with dead eyes. She turned her head from the sight only when she was addressed. The voice she had come to recognize before anyone else's issued a command. She stood up from his lap and walked over to the other wizard's crumpled body.   
  
Through the pain, Harry felt soft hands running through his tangled hair. He blinked to clear away the blurriness and looked up into the face he knew so well. "Hermione..."  
  
"Shh." She stroked his face, wiping away the blood that seeped from his nose. "Don't try to talk, Harry. I'm here. I'm always here for you."   
  
"Hermione," he repeated, closing his eyes. His glasses were cracked down both lenses. "I'm so sorry...for all of this." One hand clutched at his ribs; one of them was obviously broken as drawing in breath was becoming agony. "But please....please fight him. Don't let him...win."   
  
She kissed his forehead. Her lips were so soft against his hot skin. "Harry, he's already won."   
  
"No...no, I won't...believe that."   
  
"Don't worry..." Hermione reached for his hand, kissing his bruised and broken knuckles before pressing it to her belly. "He'll be a good father to our baby."   
  
With a sudden burst of energy, Harry pushed her away and scrambled to his feet. "You're not my Hermione!!" he shouted.   
  
Her lower lip trembled. "Harry..."   
  
He shook his head, his hands clamped to his ears. "No! Quit screwing with my mind!!" Harry pointed at Voldemort. "You. You can do anything you like to me, Voldemort, but you should have left her alone!"   
  
"This is growing tiresome, Harry." Voldemort stood up, stretching Draco's limbs. "You know I could have killed you by now, don't you?"   
  
"You've tried twice," Harry replied, spitting blood onto the floor. "And both times failed."   
  
The Dark Lord considered this. "Where is your mother now, Harry? Do you think your pretty little Mudblood will jump in again this time to defend you? You're all alone against me. And all alone...you'll die."   
  
His wand lay on the floor at Sirius' feet. It was within his reach and his godfather wouldn't move to stop him without an order from Voldemort which would take a second to communicate. Harry looked back at Voldemort. "I've been alone before, Voldemort." He made his move, ignoring the burning pain in his ribs. Without giving his enemy a moment to respond, Harry retrieved his wand and pointed it at Draco's body. "I can take you."   
  
"That's admirable, Harry." The sound of Lupin's voice made both wizards whip their stares to the fireplace. Utilizing a flame-freezing charm, his father's best friend stepped out of the hearth, his wand drawn and ready. Snape followed right behind him before letting the flames return to their original state. "But you're not going to have to do this one on your own."   
  
Voldemort smiled Draco's sinister grin. "Delightful. More thorns to pluck away. An old foe..." He glared at Lupin. "...and an even older friend." To Snape, he nodded. "Thank you for joining us, gentlemen. Which one of you would like to die first?"   
  
"Well, if it's between me and him..." Snape pushed Lupin out ahead of himself. "Take him, Master."   
  
****  
  
To Be Continued 


	23. Finite Incantatum

Disclaimer: Thank goodness I don't own these characters or else all those Ron/Hermione people out there would be mighty disappointed. Of course...then I'd have money...hmm. Sigh. Money would be nice.   
  
Author's Notes: I have nothing really important to say, so we'll get onto the story which is why you're presumably here in the first place;) Have a good read...I hope.  
  
****  
  
An Organ of Fire  
by Kristen Elizabeth  
  
****  
  
"Hufflepuffs are hard-working and good at Herbology, so they grow the weed. The Ravenclaws are really smart, so they refine the weed. The Slytherins are kind of shady, so they push the weed. Why do you think the Gryffindors are so brave? It's 'cause they're smoking the weed!!" -my little brother Clifton breaks down the Houses and the side of Hogwarts we were never meant to see   
  
****  
  
"Severus. You...you dirty traitor." Lupin spit the words out as though they tasted bad in his mouth. "Bloodless coward! How can you..."  
  
Snape raised his wand to his old schoolmate. "Shut up." He turned back to Voldemort. "I await your bidding, Master. Ever your servant."   
  
"Well, this is certainly an unexpected turn in events," Voldemort said, raising a blond eyebrow. "Severus Snape...trying to crawl back into my good graces after so many years."  
  
"It was necessary to appear loyal to Dumbledore, my Lord, to maintain your work in the time when everyone believed you were dead. And when you returned, I was watched too closely. I humbly ask for your apology, my Lord." He bowed, careful to keep his wand trained at Lupin.   
  
Voldemort snorted. "You expect me to believe this? You know better than anyone what I do to those who are disloyal to me."   
  
Without blinking, Snape replied, "With all due respect, Master, I'm all the followers you have left."   
  
This didn't please Voldemort, but he gave it a moment of thought. "Hmm, you could be right about that. Tell you what, Severus. Since you're so eager to prove yourself to me, I'm going to let you take care of something."  
  
"Anything, my Lord."  
  
Voldemort nodded at his genuflection. "Now that I have you...and Remus Lupin once he has a taste of my potion...I really have no need for Sirius Black. Kill him. And take your place at my side."   
  
"No!!" Unable to keep quiet anymore, Harry snapped out of the stupor into which Snape's sudden betrayal had sent him. "If you want to kill my godfather, you're going to have to get through me."  
  
Snape laughed, a short, barking noise, and gestured to Harry's bloody nose, broken glasses and the fact that he was still holding his ribs together. "That should take all of a minute. And have you forgotten who did that to your face?"   
  
"It won't be just Harry you'll have to go through, Severus," Lupin warned him.   
  
"Oh, go ahead and play the brave Gryffindor rushing into the fray like a fool, Remus. You're going to end up just like them anyway." He indicated Sirius and Hermione.   
  
Lupin's eyes gleamed. "Don't make the mistake of underestimating me...or James' son, for that matter."  
  
"And look at what happened to James." Snape turned his wand back on Lupin. "For all his efforts, he couldn't even distract Lord Voldemort away from his wife and child long enough to save them. Could he?"   
  
"Never, *ever* speak about James Potter again, you bloody..."  
  
Voldemort sighed. "If you're done squabbling, Severus, I do have an agenda to attend to."   
  
"Of course, Master. I apologize for..."  
  
He was cut off by a sudden shout and a burst of light from directly behind the Dark Lord. Lupin's disarming spell caught Voldemort in the back, knocking his entire body forward. His wand clattered to the wood floor. Lupin's chest rose and fell with spent energy. "I'd rather die than become your zombie, Voldemort."  
  
"Funny..." In a flash, Voldemort had retrieved his wand. "Sirius Black said the same thing."   
  
Lupin adopted a dueling stance. "I suppose I'll have to fight you on behalf of both of us, then."   
  
Voldemort curled Draco's lips into a wicked grin. "This should be fun."   
  
As soon as the first curse was cast, Snape approached the stony Sirius Black. But his path was cut off just before he reached the man by Harry throwing himself between his godfather and his former teacher. His green eyes shot daggers. "Stay away from him."   
  
"Potter, get out of my way."   
  
"Never going to happen."   
  
Snape's hand shot out and grabbed Harry up by his blood-stained collar. "Listen! If you want to save your godfather, you will damn well do everything possible to follow my lead without drawing any attention," he whispered in a harsh tone.   
  
Harry stared back and forth between Snape's tired black eyes. There wasn't any time to be wasted putting pieces together. There were only two options. Trust or don't trust. A little voice in the back of his head told him to nod. "Tell me what to do."  
  
"Keep him occupied. I'll cure Sirius first so he can help; nothing against Hermione." Snape jerked his head. "Go, before he gets suspicious."   
  
As Harry turned his attention to the duel across the room, he could hear Snape approaching his godfather. "All right, Black. If you'll follow him, you'll follow me. So, drink up."   
  
There was fire piercing Harry's side in regular intervals; if the rib wasn't broken, it was at least fractured to hell. But he forced himself to focus. Lupin was holding his own for the moment, but Harry refused to let anything happen to the older man in a battle that was his responsibility.   
  
A single curse sent Lupin flying towards the stone wall just at that moment. His body hit, shoulder first and he groaned in fresh agony. Harry gripped his wand tighter. "Voldemort!" He moved around to face the dark wizard; it was imperative to keep his attention away from Snape and Sirius. "I thought I was the one you wanted to kill."   
  
"Good things come to those who wait. And I've waited for this good thing for a very long..."  
  
"Yeah. I got that around the third time you said it." Harry used the end of his wand to scratch the back of his messy locks. "What I can't figure is this. If you kill me tonight, how are you going to explain my death? There's no scaffolding around to blame it on. Everyone knows that I came here to find Hermione." A little white lie that he suddenly wished was the truth. "What are they going to think if I don't come back?"   
  
Voldemort lifted his shoulders. "Who am I to say why you decided to pick up and leave again, Harry? That's what I'll tell them at least. And the world will keep on turning, I promise you. Your Mudblood bed-warmer, sadly, won't live all that long after she gives birth. Remus Lupin and Severus Snape will work for me when I run for Minister of Magic. As for Hogwarts, it will under-go the most magical of transformations into an institution a pure-blooded witch or wizard can be proud to attend."   
  
"Dumbledore will never..."  
  
"Dumbledore won't be alive to see it."   
  
Harry tilted his head to one side. "You've had far too much time to think about this."  
  
"And you can thank yourself for that," Voldemort replied.   
  
"You know what? You can kill me tonight. You can imprison my friends and my family. You can try to take over the Ministry and Hogwarts. But you will never win. There will always be someone who will stand up for what's right and good. Even you can't enchant everyone, Voldemort."   
  
By that point, Lupin had managed to drag himself up using the very wall he had been thrown against as leverage. "Well spoken....Harry." He winced in pain. "It sounds like something James would have said."   
  
"Welcome back. Ready for another round?" Voldemort pointed at Lupin's shoulder wound. It had re-opened and was oozing bright red blood.   
  
Harry shook his head, smiling. "It's my turn now."   
  
A long moment passed as the two wizards, whose pasts were so horrifically entwined, stared at each other. Harry could see nothing reflected in Draco's blue-grey eyes. He was truly the living dead. Suddenly, Harry's muscles grew tight. There was a new voice in his head and an invisible cloud around his mind.   
  
**Come to me, Harry Potter.**  
  
The Imperius Curse. It was strong, but he had overthrown it many times. His brow furring, Harry fought to let his own inner voice speak.   
  
**No. I don't feel like it.**  
  
**You have no choice, Harry Potter. It has always been your destiny. Come to me!**  
  
Harry's feet wanted to move. He actually had to lock his knees into place. **You have no power over me.**  
  
**Why do you fight? Come to me, and accept what should have been twenty-eight years ago. Your death. Your destiny.**  
  
**I wasn't destined to die that night, or else I would have died.**  
  
Voldemort continued to stare at him. **How long do you think you can resist me? Come to me, Harry Potter! Come to me, now!**  
  
His foot lifted from the ground, despite the imaginary lead weights he placed upon it. **No...no...NO!**  
  
**Yes, Harry. That's right. Your mind resists, but your body...it will bring you to me.**  
  
There was a new voice out of the blue. **Put your foot down, mate. You're bloody Harry Potter, you are.**  
  
"Ron." Harry's foot lowered and the fogginess over his thoughts dissipated.   
  
The connection he had established had been broken. Voldemort blinked and shook his head. "Enough of this." He raised his wand. "Avada..."   
  
"Expelliarmus!!"   
  
The disarming spell hit Voldemort for the second time, only this time it not only knocked his wand from his hand, it also knocked him to the ground. Harry blinked and looked to the other end of the room.   
  
Sirius lowered his own wand. "Fuck, I've wanted to do that for weeks."   
  
Lupin put a hand on Harry's shoulder. "Are you all right? He had you in some kind of trance for nearly half an hour. We tried...but he's too strong."  
  
"It only felt like a minute." Harry licked his lips, tasting dried blood. "Hermione..."   
  
Snape stepped out from around Sirius; Hermione was passed out in his arms. "Seems she was ordered to stop anyone trying go against her master. It was just a little stunning spell I had to use; she's not harmed."   
  
"You didn't give it to her, did you?" Lupin asked the potions master. In response, Snape shook his head.  
  
With Voldemort on the floor struggling to even sit up, Harry took Hermione from their former teacher. "I have no idea what's going on here anymore. I just want everyone to know that." She was light in his arms, despite four months of pregnancy.   
  
"When it's over, we'll fill you in," Lupin promised. "But for now...let's finish it."   
  
Sirius joined his godson. There was guilt on his face, but it was not the time for apologies. "You know what you have to do."   
  
"Yes." Harry looked down at Draco Malfoy's body as Voldemort staggered to his feet. "But I'm not alone in doing it. Am I?"   
  
"You're not," Sirius assured him. "Not this time." Behind him, Snape nodded. Lupin echoed the sentiment.   
  
Harry looked down at Hermione. Her cheeks were deathly pale. And her body, so limp and pliant. The very idea of how Voldemort had wanted to use her...Harry forced the thought away. Gently, he let Hermione's legs drop until her feet touched the floor. He held her upright against his body with his left arm securely around her waist. The side of her face rested on his shoulder. With his free hand, Harry aimed his wand at Voldemort.  
  
"This, Voldemort..." He closed his eyes for a brief moment. When they opened again, they were set like steel. "This is for my mother and father who gave up their lives for me. It's for Cedric Diggory who should have had a chance to grow up. For Draco Malfoy who was too twisted by you to know any better." Voldemort looked up at him with undiluted hatred. Harry continued, determined to get everything out. "For Hermione who saves my life every single day. For Sirius and Lupin...and Snape. For Ron...who should be here with us. For my children and their future. But mostly...this is for me."   
  
His wand lifted. The curse was on his lips, a curse that was never meant to come from any good wizard's mouth. But for reasons that were beyond his control, this would be the second time he dared to utter it. Hopefully, it would also be the last.  
  
But like the creature who he so thoroughly identified himself with, Voldemort struck in the blink of an eye, his invisible fangs bared. Instead of going for Harry's wand, the Dark Lord made a grab for Harry's chest, muttering a curse no one could understand.   
  
Draco's nails dug into Harry's skin through the layers of his robes. From the moment Voldemort touched him, Harry felt only excruciating pain. The noise that came from his throat was primal; his oldest enemy was trying to gouge a hole in his chest to rip his very heart out and Harry couldn't even grapple his arm to stop him.   
  
"Harry!" Sirius tried to pull Voldemort off, but with his free hand, the wizard stopped him. An invisible force sent Harry's godfather hurtling back several yards. He landed in a pile in front of the fire.   
  
"Come any closer and suffer the same," Voldemort hissed between tightly clenched teeth when Lupin stepped forward. "I warn you now...this is my battle to triumph! And no one, most especially the great Harry Potter, is going to take that away from me!!" The sharp tips of Draco's fingers somehow tunneled through cotton and wool and broke Harry's skin.   
  
"I can't move," he could hear Snape say. "Remus?"  
  
"No." The other man fought with himself, but Voldemort's spells were too powerful.   
  
Hermione's head lolled off his shoulder. She bent at the back over his arm, draped like a mannequin. Through his pain, keeping her from falling was the one task that kept Harry focused. Five little daggers pierced the thin layer of skin and thicker layer of muscle over his breast-bone and showed no signs of stopping. It was magical strength Voldemort possessed and if he wanted Harry's heart, he was going to have it if something weren't done.   
  
"Voldemort..." he grunted, his face twisted. "Let...go of...me."  
  
"I want to see it, Potter. In my hand...the source of all my troubles. This heart of yours..." The Dark Lord chuckled under his breath. Sweat beaded his forehead. "If I just...pluck it out, will you finally...and for all times...die?!?!"  
  
Harry's entire body felt detached from what was happening to his chest. He was standing above himself, watching Voldemort use Draco Malfoy's fingers to dig into his body.   
  
"Harry..." The word escaped Hermione's throat on a whisper.   
  
Quick as that, he invaded his own body once again, taking charge. He blinked and released his wand. His hand now free, he grabbed his attacker's arm at the elbow joint. Harry said nothing, but his stare once again locked with Voldemort's. Both men's bodies shook with effort. One pushing forward, the other pushing back.   
  
"I..." Harry began, his hoarse voice increasing in both volume and emphasis as he continued. "...will *not* die!!"  
  
Voldemort broke eye contact; he dropped a strange look down to Harry's chest. Smoke curled around his fingers, emanating from the five puncture wounds. "What..." He stopped, Draco's eyes growing wide with sudden fear. "No...no!!!"   
  
Harry could feel the heat in his heart although it was anything but painful. He closed his eyes and let it burn into Voldemort's skin. He needed no explanations. Hermione was stirring against his side, still lost to Snape's stunner and whatever it was that had been done to her, but she was there. Alive and breathing and close to him. Sirius was still unconscious on the floor and Snape Lupin were frozen, but their life-force was strong.   
  
But more than that were the people who weren't present. His parents. His friends. Ron. The people who loved him, who had made sacrifices for him and for good in general. They were all there, concentrated in his heart and it was their power that made Voldemort pull away with a frightening cry, clutching his red, raw hand. He stumbled back several steps, his wound smoking.   
  
"You see?" Harry panted, ignoring the lingering pain. "You can't touch me."   
  
Lupin and Snape both relaxed in that moment, released from their binding spell. An angry groan and movement by the fireplace signaled Sirius' struggle to stand. Still holding onto Hermione, Harry bent down and slowly picked up his wand.   
  
"This is not...happening again," Voldemort muttered over and over again. "It's not....I'm going to...it's my time...to kill you....Harry Potter."  
  
With precision, Harry lined the end of his wand up with his target. "Do you know what, Voldemort? Just...bugger off already."   
  
"Again," Lupin lifted his wand; Snape mimicked the gesture. "Something your father would have said."   
  
Voldemort shot a look that could have been interpreted as worried at Snape. "Severus?"   
  
The potions master shrugged at his long-abandoned master. "Everyone knows not to trust a former Death-Eater."  
  
Sirius joined them, cracking his neck joints back into place. "All right. I've had just about enough of this sodding prick tossing me around." He raised his own wand.   
  
The men exchanged glances. They each had the same, unspoken thought and just as silently, it was agreed upon. Harry clutched Hermione a little tighter to his chest; she groaned in protest. Before he spoke, he took another look around him. Lupin and Sirius on one side. Snape and Hermione on the other.   
  
He squinted suddenly. Just over Snape's shoulder, he could barely make out another figure. A man in robes and red hair, his own wand poised and ready to go. The apparition turned its head towards Harry and winked merrily.   
  
Harry's eyes shut for only the brief second it took to blink, but when he opened them again, Ron was gone.   
  
His attention whipped back to the task at hand. He didn't have to glance around again. It was time.   
  
"Avada Kedavra."   
  
Their voices mingled together like a deadly four-part harmony. The green light followed, the light that had haunted Harry for his entire life. Voldemort's screams were those of a man dying without a final lifeline in sight. After what seemed like an eternity, the light faded and there was nothing but Draco's body left.   
  
It dropped to the floor like a weight, still bearing the colors of life. But before their eyes, Draco's skin, dead for ten years, began to crack and peel. His lips rolled back, teeth and eyes protruded. Decayed flesh melted away to reveal muscles; muscles shrunk until there were only robe-covered bones. Harry watched it all without blinking or flinching.   
  
Finally, there was silence. Harry was the first to move; he passed Hermione over to Lupin and took a tentative step forward. Voldemort's wand lay in the bones that had made up Draco's hand. He leaned down and carefully extracted it.   
  
Snape came up behind him. "What do you want to do now, Harry?"   
  
A moment passed as he stared at the wand that had brought about so much death and destruction while pondering the question. What did he want to do now?   
  
Harry grasped either end of the wand and snapped it in half. He tossed the broken instrument onto the remains of Draco Malfoy. With that dismissal, he looked up at Snape. "Cure Hermione." It wasn't an answer; it was a request. An order, even.   
  
The potions master glanced back at Lupin and Sirius. "It's not that simple, Harry."   
  
"What do you mean?" Harry took off his broken glasses. "You did something to fix Sirius. Now do the same to Hermione."   
  
Lupin approached with the woman in question in his arms. She was on the brink of consciousness now, her struggles lending proof to the fact that Voldemort might have been gone, but his control over her lingered. "While he had you in that trance..." He licked his lips, hesitant to go on.   
  
"It was a potion, Harry." Sirius walked forward, his arms crossed. "I was wandering around Diagon Alley that day we were supposed to meet as Padfoot....and I was shot with some sort of tranquilizer. By the time I woke up as a human again, he had force-fed me half a bottle. I couldn't stop him from..." Taking a breath, he continued. "It was like my own voice was gone. I was there, under the surface, watching myself do everything he told me to do, but I had no will of my own. It was his will."   
  
Harry touched his bruised cheek. "I think I understand. So, he gave this potion to Hermione. I still don't understand why..."   
  
"The counter-potion." Snape pulled the half-empty beaker out of his robes. "It worked very fast for Sirius. But..."  
  
"But what?" Harry felt like stomping his foot. "Give it to Hermione then!"  
  
Lupin spoke softly. "We overheard from the fireplace... Is Hermione really pregnant?"   
  
"Yes," Harry replied after a second. "What does that...." He abruptly stopped. "Wait a minute..."  
  
"I'm sorry, Harry." For the first time since he had known the man, Snape sounded sincerely so. "The key ingredient of this potion is shrivelfig. Shrivelfig is also the main component of any abortive potion. Harry...if we give this to her, she will miscarry."   
  
The heavy blanket of silence was ripped in half as Hermione came to all of a sudden. She gazed up at Lupin wildly. "Put me down!!"   
  
Startled, Lupin looked to Harry. James' son was still overwhelmed by the news; he blinked several times and tried to focus on Hermione, who was by now kicking and fighting. Before she could do any damage, Lupin set her down onto her feet.   
  
She immediately moved back a few feet from the men. "Where's Draco?"  
  
Harry took a step towards her. "Hermione...it's me, Harry. Please, look at me. Please..."   
  
"Stay away from me!" She jumped back another foot. "I want Draco."   
  
"She really *isn't* Hermione right now, Harry," Sirius said. "The only thing she can think about is him. And the only thing that matters is whatever his next order is. She's lost without him. You can't talk her back."   
  
"If I can't talk her back to me, then...then I can wait! I mean..." Harry plunged bloody hands into his hair. "She's about...four and half months along. Another four and a half...it's not that long to wait...to get her back *and* have our baby safe and..."  
  
Hermione screamed, cutting him off. She had backed into Draco's bones; her heel caught his collarbone, crushing it. She dropped to her knees and fingered the edge of his robes. "You....you killed him...you all killed him."   
  
Snape uncorked his potion. "Take a good look at her Harry. This is how she'll be until she has this potion."   
  
He snapped back, on the edge of exhaustion, pain and impending sorrow. "You're telling me that I have to choose between the woman I love and our baby?! How can you....any of you expect me to do that?! After everything we've gone through tonight..." Harry rubbed his mouth with the back of his palm. "No. I can't do this. I won't...choose." He walked over to Hermione; she had draped herself over what was left of Draco. "Hermione. Come on. We're getting out of here and back to..."  
  
"I'm not going anywhere," she spat. "Not with you. Not without him." Her arms cradled her belly. "I'm going to stay here and wait for my baby to come. Draco promised to take care of her....and me. Forever."   
  
When Harry turned back to his companions, there were hot tears in his eyes. "There's another way. Please...tell me that another kind of potion can be..." Snape shook his head. "Lupin....a spell? From America, perhaps? Something..." He glanced at Sirius when Lupin lowered his head. "Anything. Please..."  
  
Sirius reached for his godson's shoulder. "I'm so sorry, Harry," he whispered.   
  
His godfather's hand remained on his shoulder in the long minutes that followed, a link to some semblance of sanity. In all that time, Harry neither blinked nor moved. The only sounds were Hermione's quiet sobs. Finally, Harry nodded. "Give it to her."   
  
****  
  
Little Harry woke with a start. He sat up in his sun-warmed bed, but didn't stay there for long. Hagrid was asleep in a chair by the door that had broken underneath his huge body, snoring enough to scare the model dragons on his bookshelves. The boy quietly got up and snuck out the door of his room.   
  
He thundered down the stairs. The living room was cold despite the daylight; the fire had long since died. Little Harry ignored it and ran for the front door.   
  
He scolded himself as he ran out the corridor, past Miss Belle's painting and through the Hogwarts hallways and staircases. How many times had his mother told him not to run? But he had to get there...quickly.   
  
The sun had just come up and there was still fresh dew on the grass as little Harry came out into open air from the port trellis. He lifted a hand to his eyes to shield them from the bright light. There were dark silhouettes coming up over the hill from the direction of Hogsmeade. Four distinct shapes and as they came closer, he could see a fifth, cradled in one of the figure's arms.   
  
He wanted to run to them, but his feet remained planted. The last pieces of his dream came back to him. The snake biting into his little sister's arm and making her cry.   
  
The dark shapes turned into people. Professor Snape. Professor Lupin. A man with black hair who he vaguely recognized.   
  
And his father. Carrying his mother.   
  
They were obviously victorious, but none of them were smiling. When they were only a couple of yards away, little Harry realized why.   
  
Blood soaked his mother's skirt turning the tan material dark crimson and caked her long legs all the way down. She was as pale as one of the lilies in his grandmother's garden. His father's glasses were gone; there was nothing on his face but bruises, blood and tears.   
  
The boy's cheeks were also wet. He rubbed at them with his sleeve, but then thought better of it. His dad had told him once that there were times when it was all right to cry.   
  
****  
  
To Be Continued (like I'd end it there...) 


	24. Reparo?

Disclaimer: Nope, they're still not mine.   
  
Author's Notes: Thank you so very much for all the really nice reviews the last few chapters have gotten. They've been more than merely encouraging:) I hope you continue to read and enjoy. No matter what happens. With nothing else really major to say, on with the story!  
  
****  
  
An Organ of Fire  
by Kristen Elizabeth  
  
****  
  
"It ended too quickly." Harry picked lint off the bandages on his hands. "Don't you think?"  
  
At the foot of the hospital bed on the edge of which Harry was seated, Dumbledore shook his aged head. "I don't know, Harry. I wasn't there."   
  
"It did," Sirius answered for his godson. "Just a couple of words, some green light and...poof. Too quickly."   
  
"Such is death all too often," the Headmaster said. His sad gaze passed over the woman lying in the bed. "And life."  
  
From the bed next to the one around which they were all gathered, Lupin gestured to Harry with his good arm. The other was encased in a sling to keep his shoulder wound from re-opening. "Shouldn't you be lying down with those broken ribs of yours?"  
  
Sirius' cheeks grew red. "Must you keep bringing it up, Remus?"   
  
"No, that's what I'm for," Snape replied from his place next to Dumbledore. It was the closest he had ever come to cracking a joke with his childhood enemies. "You should be resting, Harry."   
  
The Boy Who Lived Once Again shook his head and looked down at Hermione. "She hasn't woken up yet."   
  
"And she won't for awhile," Sirius reminded him. "But you need rest just as much as she does."  
  
Harry winced as a throbbing pain in his side made him think that the advice he was receiving might not be so far off-base. "I need to tell her. As soon as she wakes up."   
  
A moment of reverent silence followed. "What happens now, Headmaster?" Lupin asked.   
  
"A team of Ministry persons has already been sent to Malfoy Manor. Neville Longbottom has assured me that everything will be properly taken care of."   
  
"What about Malfoy's son?" Snape asked.   
  
"His late mother's family has agreed to take the boy in." Dumbledore sighed. "It will be up to them how much young Bronson will ever know about what happened last night."   
  
Sirius frowned. "You mean to let the public know, then? About...Lord Voldemort?"   
  
"I've already made a statement to the Daily Prophet, an obituary for Draco Malfoy. The public does not need to know how close they came to becoming Voldemort's followers. But I have told the Parkinson family the truth; they have a right to know who murdered their daughter." Dumbledore cleared his throat all of a sudden. "Speaking of the Daily Prophet, Harry, they were most pleased to inform me...and asked me to pass the good news along that Virginia Weasley had her baby yesterday. I wasn't sure whether or not tell you, but I thought it might best if you heard the news from someone who knows about..."  
  
Harry forced himself to smile. "It's all right. I can still be happy for a friend. It was early, wasn't it?"  
  
"Yes, but the child is just fine. A boy. They've named him..."  
  
"Ron," Harry guessed. "Of course. It should be that way." He picked Hermione's hand up from the starched sheets and held it between his. Despite what he had said, it was painfully difficult to be happy for Ginny and her husband right then. Not after what had happened to... Harry willed back tears. What had that holy man in India told him when he asked about death? "When one life ends, another begins," he said out loud.   
  
"It's not your fault, Harry," Sirius said all of a sudden. Silence followed. "It wasn't."  
  
"Perhaps we should leave Potter alone," Snape quietly suggested.   
  
Harry had stopped listening to them by that point. He could see the faint blue veins beneath Hermione's soft skin, and concentrating on following them up and down the delicate bones of her hand was far easier than thinking about their lost child....or how he was ever going to break the news to her when she woke up.   
  
And it was his fault.   
  
They each said their goodbyes; Lupin got up and moved to a bed further down the room even after Dumbledore pulled the thin curtain around Hermione's bed. With Hagrid keeping little Harry occupied back in the Professor's wing, he was finally alone with Hermione.   
  
"I swore I'd keep you from being in one of these beds again," he whispered. "Please forgive me, love."   
  
The tears he had been fighting fell; they dripped down the inside of her arm. He closed his eyes, but all he could see was himself, holding her thrashing body down while Snape fed her the counter-potion....the counter-potion that had brought her back to him and killed their child at the same time.   
  
"Forgive me, Hermione. Because I never will."   
  
****  
  
She awoke without ceremony from a sleep that had been haunted with upsetting dreams. Retaining no memory of them beyond that, her eyes opened. Someone had a hold of her hand. The first thing she did was flex her fingers. Almost immediately, he appeared over her.   
  
"Harry." Her voice sounded so weak, even to her own ears.   
  
The face of the man she loved was a mottle of purple-blue bruises; there were some wounds that even magic couldn't erase. Behind a new pair of glasses, his eyes were liquid green, both worried and relieved. And sad. So very, very sad.   
  
"Hey there," he said softly, stroking her hair back from her forehead.   
  
She could only say his name again, but instinctively she knew she didn't have to ask any questions. He began to speak in a low, soothing tone. As he recounted the night's events, Hermione could tell he was hiding something. But she wasn't sure she was strong enough yet to find out what it was.  
  
"He's gone," Harry finished a few minutes later. "It's all over, love."   
  
Hermione tried to swallow, but her throat was bone-dry. Bones. She could remember bones. Voldemort's...no, Draco's. She desperately wanted to close her eyes again. "I'm so...sorry."  
  
His eyes grew darker. "No, Hermione. There's nothing..." He stopped for a few seconds to collect himself. "This...all of this...was my fault. All of it." The last sentence was barely audible.   
  
"You came for me, Harry." Her tears wet the white pillow. "I told him you would...and you didn't let me down. I remember...everything now. Everything until..." There was the strangest sense of emptiness within her body all of a sudden; it sent a spike of cold fear down her spine.   
  
"Until what?" he asked, worried.   
  
She shook her head. "I...I don't know."   
  
Harry hesitated just long enough for her to figure out that whatever it was, it was very bad. "Madam Pomfrey says you're doing just fine. You just need lots of rest and fluids. And don't worry about Harry; he's just fine, as well. Very glad that you're all right. He'll come see you later if you like."   
  
"Harry." Hermione closed her eyes. The pieces fell together and formed a nightmare. It could only be one thing, her worst fear realized. "Our baby is gone, isn't she?"   
  
A reply never came. It wasn't necessary. Unconsciously, Hermione's hand slid down the length of her stomach and settled on her flat belly. Still sore from the miscarriage, she shut her eyes tightly. Grief built up in her chest, manifesting itself into deep sobs that shook her slender body and ripped Harry apart. His handss balled up, stretching the broken skin under his bandages. A few spots of blood appeared through the white gauze.  
  
He relaxed his fists suddenly, needing to hold her. Because as soon as she found out the truth, he might never be allowed to again. Harry lifted her shoulders and back off the bed and wrapped her up in an unbreakable embrace. "I'm sorry," he said into her hair, his voice choked. "I'm sorry." It took her awhile to respond, but when she did, she tightened her arms around his torso and spent her tears into the crook of his neck.   
  
They remained like that for a long time, long enough for the initial sorrow to work its way out. Hermione opened her bloodshot eyes, staring at the forest-green braid that trimmed the borders of Harry's robes. "We never even named her."   
  
"Maybe it's better that we didn't."   
  
"Maybe." She hiccuped softly and pulled back just enough to be able to see his face. "He said his potion wouldn't hurt the baby. Did he lie, or did he just not know?"   
  
Harry's expression was that of a man entering hell. His chin dropped down to his chest. "Love, it wasn't his potion." He continued, his voice flat and lifeless. "There was a counter-potion. Snape brewed it...the only thing that could bring you back from..."   
  
"Harry?" She tucked her lower lip between her teeth to keep it from trembling uncontrollably.   
  
"I had him give it to you. Even though I knew what it would do." His eyes burned with unshed tears as she stared at him. "There wasn't any other way, Hermione. Please believe me..." She looked away from him, a simple movement that hurt worse than Sirius's right hook. "'Mione..." Harry reached for her hand, but she pulled it away. "You can't possibly hate me right now any more than I hate myself...but please...at least look at me."   
  
When she finally spoke, her words were soft and cool. "I know you must have done what had to be done. You always do; it's one of the things I fell in love with." Her arms crossed protectively over her stomach. "I don't hate you, Harry. But I don't want to look at you right now either."   
  
"Hermione..." He tried touching her again. A mistake.   
  
"No!" Her outburst echoed off the ceiling. After a moment, she shut her eyes and carefully laid back down onto the pillows, her head still facing away from him. "I want to be alone for awhile." Harry drew his hand back towards his body. "Please, Harry...just go."   
  
He stood up on legs that shook beneath him. For the time it took the second hand to get around a clock, Harry remained still, waiting for something, some sign of encouragement. When it didn't come, he slowly backed up through the curtains and walked out of the hospital wing, ignoring Lupin as the older man called to him.   
  
Five minutes later, he found himself at Minerva McGonagall's office, knocking on the heavy wooden door with his bleeding fists. When she answered, he pushed past her without waiting for an invitation. "Where is it?"  
  
McGonagall put a hand against her throat. "Harry, I am so terribly sorry for your loss. I had no idea that..."  
  
"Just tell me where it is. Please."   
  
"Where what is, Harry?"   
  
He leveled her with a hard stare. "The time-turner. I know you have one."   
  
She glanced down at her wrinkled hands. "Harry, you know perfectly well that I can't..."  
  
"Yes, you can. It's simply a matter of giving it to me." Harry held out his hand. "Easy as that."  
  
"Hardly, Harry. Hardly." His old teacher sighed sadly. "For one thing, the time-turner is only designed to go back an hour or two at the most. Any more than that and you risk..."  
  
Harry cut her off, "Don't you think I'm willing to take any risk?!"  
  
"There are some things that aren't worth..."   
  
"And there are some things that are!!" He began to pace to keep his feet moving and his mind occupied. "I just need to go back two days. Three at the most. Yeah....three. Then I can stop her from ever being taken. She'll be safe and we can devise a better plan to rescue Sirius and most importantly...our baby won't..." His voice gave out, too overcome to continue for a few seconds. "Just give me the chance, Professor. I'll fix it...I'll save her...I can do it! I can."  
  
The older witch brushed away a tear. "I'm sorry. Even if you're willing, I can't risk altering the outcome of last night's events. Just because you have the power, Harry, doesn't mean it's always wise to exercise it."   
  
He was helpless. Everything he knew, everything he was...and yet none of it mattered. Life had happened as it was wont to happen and the only thing left to do was to pick up the pieces and try to move on. At least, that was what his head recognized. His heart, as always, was two steps behind.   
  
"I killed...a part of myself last night." His jaw felt tight. "Do you have any idea what that feels like, Professor? To know that you are personally responsible for the death of your own child?"   
  
"Harry..." She approached him and put both hands on his arms and spoke the four words he couldn't bring himself to believe. "It's not your fault."   
  
His eyes clouded over with hot tears. "Please just give it to me," he whispered. When she shook her head, his shoulders slumped over. Just as McGonagall began to worry about him falling to the ground, Harry's back straightened. "Thank you for everything, Professor."   
  
"Harry, you know that if there were another way, I would gladly..."  
  
"When you offered this position to me, you said that there was a great deal of good to be done. Well...I'm not sure how much I have done, but I thank you for the opportunity." He started for the door. "My students are more than ready for their exams, thus fulfilling the obligation I have to Hogwarts as outlined in my contract. Please pass on my regards and thanks to the Headmaster and the rest of the staff."   
  
"Running away again, Harry?" she asked with more than a little disappointment.   
  
"Not running. Just sparing everyone even more suffering."   
  
"Harry...you know that this is your home. *They* are your family. You're older now and leaving is not the mature thing to..."  
  
Harry paused with his hand on the door. "My home...my family is better off without me." He gripped the brass handle tighter, remembering Hermione's heart-wrenching sobs. "There are some wounds that even magic can't heal."   
  
"You're not wrong," McGonagall said in her usual crisp manner. "But what magic can't heal, love and time always can."   
  
"I asked for time." He pulled the door open. "You wouldn't give it to me."  
  
She raised a grey eyebrow. "And love, Harry? What of that?" An answer never came; the door slammed shut behind him.   
  
****  
  
He would be leaving Hogwarts with more than what he had arrived with nine months earlier. Besides his Firebolt and a few new sets of robes, he would be leaving with a plethora of new memories. Playing Wizard's Chess with little Harry, watching a student's face light up when he or she finally grasped a particular concept, talking with Hagrid over huge cups of tea...making love with Hermione in the moonlight.   
  
Harry sat on the edge of his bed when he was finished packing, one foot propped up on his full trunk. He closed his eyes and allowed himself a moment to think. Leaving was not a decision he had come to lightly. But she had asked for time, and this was the only way he could give it to her. While he would have loved to stay and been allowed to work through his own sorrow by her side, she obviously needed space, as well.   
  
In fact, the only thing keeping him from jumping on his broom and departing straight away was his son. Little Harry had just begun to accept him...and now he was preparing to break that thin bond of trust that had been established. But he had to believe it was worth it. He just had to. Or else...he'd have to think twice about going at all.   
  
Harry opened his eyes and found himself looking into a pair of identical green irises. He blinked. "Harry? How did you get in here?"   
  
"Mum's wand. Alohomora," his son replied. "Standard Book of Spells, chapter..."  
  
"Three."  
  
"Are you going somewhere, Father?"  
  
He glanced around his bedroom. "I was planning to, yes."   
  
"Why?" little Harry asked, unable to hide the shadow that settled onto his brow.   
  
"For lots of reasons," Harry said with a sigh. "All of which seem ridiculous now." He paused. "Harry, you're old enough to hear what happened to your mother last..."  
  
"I already know, Father. I saw it all in my dream. What happened to her."   
  
"You saw it?" Harry swallowed a hot lump in his throat. "You saw your sister?" The boy nodded. "What did she...I mean..." He choked on a sharp breath. "Did she look like Hermione...or me?"   
  
Little Harry shook his head. "I don't know, Father. I only saw a very little baby." He frowned, remembering. "Wrapped in a blue blanket."  
  
"A *blue* blanket?"   
  
"It was blue," the boy said, closing his eyes. "The snake...bit the baby's arm...and it cried. There was blood...all over the blue blanket."   
  
Harry reached for his son's shoulder. "I thought you said...that Ron said your mother was going to have a girl?"   
  
"He did. And he said that she'd be fine." Fat tears appeared in the corners of little Harry's eyes. "Was it not Dad that I've been seeing in my dreams? It's looked just like him. Sounded just like him." The tears spilled over. "I've wanted it to be Dad so much, Father...I've wanted to see him again...just once."   
  
"I know what you mean," Harry whispered. Without hesitating, he pulled his son into his arms for a long overdue hug. "You know what?" he continued after a long time.   
  
Little Harry sniffed, but didn't remove his arms from around his father's neck. "What?"   
  
"I think it has been Ron you've been seeing. I saw him, too. He was with us when we...well, anyways, he was there at Malfoy Manor."   
  
"I'm glad you saw him, Father."   
  
Harry nodded. "Me, too. Even if it was only just for a second."   
  
"Please don't go away," the child blurted out into Harry's shoulder. "I don't want you to leave! And I don't want to see Mum cry anymore."   
  
"I don't either, Harry. That's one of my reasons for leaving."   
  
The boy sniffed again, this time indignantly. "You said yourself all your reasons were ridiculous."   
  
"I did, didn't I?"  
  
His son pulled back without breaking the embrace. "What happened...it's not your fault, Father."   
  
There was no difference in the way he said it from the ways Sirius and McGonagall had said it, but for some reason, this time Harry let himself believe. He slowly nodded. "Perhaps."   
  
Little Harry wriggled out of the hug and pushed his father's foot off of his trunk. While Harry watched, the boy successfully unlocked it and began pulling out clothes and replacing them in various drawers.   
  
"I take it I'm not going anywhere tonight, am I?" Harry said. He was rather inclined to be amused by the turn of events, but his chest was still too heavy with grief to smile.   
  
"Nope." The boy carefully unfolded Harry's good set of dark green robes. "Not until you talk to Mum." He moved to the closet, looking very much like his mother when she set her mind to a task. "You two need each other right now, more than ever."  
  
Harry looked down at his lap. "Did Ron tell you that?"  
  
Little Harry shook his head proudly. "I figured that one out myself."   
  
"All right." He stood up from the bed and adjusted his glasses. "I'll try again."   
  
"I think that's pretty much all you can do. But Mum loves you. She doesn't want you to go."   
  
Harry knelt down to his son's level. "I love her. And you. You know that now, right?"  
  
"I do," little Harry nodded. He watched his father stand up and walk to the door. "I love you, too, Father."   
  
It was the brightest moment Harry had experienced since he had woken up in Hermione's arms the day she was abducted. It kept him motivated as he made the long walk down to the hospital wing. And it gave him courage when it came time to push the privacy curtain aside and confront the only woman he had ever loved.   
  
She turned her head to look at him, an indescribable look on her lovely, tear-stained face.  
  
"Hermione," he began. "So much has happened to us in the years we've known each other. Lots of wonderful things. And far too many tragic things. Losing our baby last night...it's pain like we've never known. It's pain...like Ron's father said it would be. And nothing's worse. Except maybe one thing." He stopped to take a breath before plunging on. "Losing you. Hermione...I love you. I have always loved you. Even before I had any idea what love was...you were there. I had to make a choice last night and right or wrong, I can't change it. All I know is that I can't lose you. Ever. You are my home."   
  
"Harry..."   
  
He sat at her side and gently covered her mouth with two splintered fingers. "You told me to go away...and I almost did. I'm still here because I had to tell you all of this. And...I had to ask you something. It's not the best time...and it's not the way I wanted to do this, but....Hermione..." He licked his lips. "Will you consider marrying me?"   
  
Hermione's hands still rested on her belly. For an endless moment, she looked back and forth between his eyes. The color of the Quidditch green. The color of emeralds. Finally, she lifted one hand to run her fingers through his tousled black locks.   
  
"No. I won't consider it."   
  
****  
  
To Be Continued 


	25. Elixer of Life

Disclaimer: Characters, places, ideas and even one little line of dialogue does not in any way, shape or form belong to me, Kristen Elizabeth. It all belongs to JK Rowling and...um...all those book and movie companies. So, please don't sue. You can't take my autographed picture of Jonathan Frakes away from me!!!   
  
Author's Notes: To follow the story.  
  
****  
  
An Organ of Fire  
by Kristen Elizabeth  
  
****  
  
"So...what do you think?"  
  
With a critical green eye, little Harry looked older Harry up and down, from head to toe. "You look..." He stopped.  
  
"I look...what?" Harry splayed his fingers across his chest, patting the black vest. "Is it buttoned up wrong? Is black too boring? Is it not black at all?! Did they give me navy blue or something?"   
  
His son snickered behind one hand as his father turned around, searching for a better angle to catch the light streaming in from the window. "Made you look."  
  
Harry stopped, a sour look on his face that was entirely directed towards the boy. "You're killing me, kid."  
  
"It's buttoned up fine. It's jet black. And it's not boring." Sirius approached his godson and brushed non-existent lint off the shoulders of Harry's black dress robes. "It's classic. Your father wore something just like this."   
  
"I know," Harry smiled. "I've seen the pictures." The sudden onslaught of butterflies in his stomach made his smile fade quickly. "Was he nervous?"  
  
Sirius shot a look towards Lupin who was sitting on the edge of the bed, polishing Harry's right shoe. "Let's just say that we wouldn't let him eat any breakfast," he finally replied.   
  
Little Harry pulled at the white collar of his brand-new dress shirt. "I've never heard you talk about my real grandfather. What was he like?"   
  
"Harry," the older Harry gestured until the boy approached him, still tugging at his formal clothes. "You have a real grandfather...two, actually...downstairs getting ready. You know?"   
  
His son nodded. "I know."  
  
Lupin handed Harry his shoe and winked at little Harry. "Tell you what," he addressed the boy. "After this whole shindig, Sirius and I will sit down and tell you all you want to know about your Grandpa James."   
  
Sirius spiked his eyebrows at Harry. "So much for my idea of sneaking off with a lovely, intoxicated Muggle girl."  
  
"I remind you that you're not sixteen anymore." Balancing on one foot, Harry pulled on his freshly-polished shoe. "Oh bloody hell, what do I care? Have fun. It's my..."  
  
There was a sudden knock on the door. It opened a crack and Hagrid's large head appeared in the room. "Almost ready in 'ere?"   
  
"Just about," Harry replied. The butterflies stirred once more within his empty stomach. "Is everyone else?"   
  
Hagrid stepped inside. He had abandoned his ancient coat for the occasion and donned a relatively new set of formal robes...made out of what looked to be a combination of hare and fox fur. "Guests 'ave all arrived. Gittin' seated as we speak. An' I got word from down the 'all...she's 'bout ready, too."   
  
Harry blew out a breath as the butterflies turned into a swarm of killer bees. "Wow. All right. This is it."   
  
"I'll let 'em know." Before leaving, Hagrid grinned from ear to ear. "Breathe, 'arry. Breathe."   
  
"Easy for him to say," Sirius chuckled. "But seriously, Harry. Breathe. You're starting to look like maybe we shouldn't have let *you* eat any breakfast."   
  
Little Harry peered up at Harry as he concentrated on his breathing. "It's all right, Father. It's not raining and it's not too hot and Grandma Molly made chocolate squares. Something to look forward to afterwards, right?"   
  
"I'd imagine he's looking forward to something more than just chocolate..." Lupin stopped, catching the brunt end of a hard look from Sirius. He cleared his throat.   
  
"What do you mean?" little Harry asked, curious.   
  
Giving Harry's son a final once-over to make sure his clothes were properly set, Lupin patted his flaming locks. "Cake. Your father is very much looking forward to the cake."   
  
"Harry?" Sirius opened the door. "It's now or never."   
  
Time seemed to stand still for a minute as Harry turned his head to look out into the fourth floor hallway of the Weasley home. Twenty-eight years in the making, this day promised to be the best of all, and he included the day Hagrid had appeared and single-handedly plucked him out of hell and placed him into his real life. There were so many moments in between that stood out, too many to count.   
  
But the hardest ones by far had been the most recent.   
  
"Go on ahead and I'll...I'll be along." Harry flashed his groomsmen a weak smile. "I just need a minute."   
  
Sirius nodded. "Come on, kid." He let the boy go first, Lupin second and finally, himself, but not before he turned to look at his godson again. "Don't be late."   
  
"I won't be," Harry promised. "Trust me."   
  
Once he was alone, he closed his eyes. His shoulders were too tight to even try to relax them, but he did take several more deep breaths as he thought back over the past month and a half. He found himself wandering back in time to that day in the hospital wing.   
  
The seconds it took her to continue speaking after her simple sentence that nearly drained him of all the blood in his body had ticked by like years. *I won't consider it,* she had said. She might as well have hacked into him with an axe.  
  
But then, like the angel that she was, she had gone on. *I won't consider it, Harry, because I've been considering it since I was sixteen years old. And no matter what's happened, or what you've done, or what I've done...any of it...no matter what, I've always known what my answer would be.*   
  
Harry opened his eyes. Everything after that had been a blur. A happy blur, but a blur nonetheless. All he had known in that moment was that everything was about to change...and that it was all for the better.   
  
But he hadn't thought about the hard realities that were to come, the hardest of which had been facing Ron's family and telling them the truth about little Harry's parentage.   
  
"Harry?" A soft voice and an even softer knock jarred him out of his thoughts. "Are you decent?"   
  
He smiled. "Come on in, Ginny."   
  
She entered, looking magically amazing for a woman who had given birth only a month and a half earlier and carrying a white-swaddled bundle in her arms. "Oh..." Her smile lit up her entire face. "You look smashing. Wait, is that a good compliment for a man?"  
  
"It works for me." He reached out to pull back a fold in the white flannel. A little face was nestled in the cloth, a soft red curl resting on its forehead. "How's he handling the chaos?"  
  
"Pretty well, as you can see," Ginny replied, stroking her infant son's cheek. "He's just like Ryan. Very mellow." She glanced up to give Harry another thorough look. "You don't know how many times I used to wish I'd be standing next to you while you were wearing something like that someday. Except..." She gestured to her loose-fitting light blue dress robes. "I always imagined *I'd* be the one wearing white."   
  
Red colored Harry's cheeks from ear to ear. "Ginny..." he mumbled, tucking his hands under his arms.   
  
She laughed suddenly, making little Ron jerk slightly in his sleep. "And you also don't know just how much fun it is to make you blush." A moment passed during which Harry's attention seemed to slip further and further away. "Harry? Is something the matter?"   
  
He rubbed at his eyes underneath his glasses. "Tell me again that your parents don't hate me."   
  
"Harry," Ron's sister pursed her lips. "Of course they don't hate you. Don't be silly. They insisted on having the wedding here, didn't they?"   
  
Harry couldn't accept this and began pacing across the woven rug in front of the bedroom's fireplace. "How could they not hate me? After everything I did...all the lies that I set in motion. And then having to stand in front of them and tell them..."  
  
"We should have all known much earlier, Harry. I mean, I look at him now and I think, of course he's your child. No one but you has eyes like that. And his smile..." Ginny adjusted the bundle in her arms. "But more than that...I lived in same dormitory as you and Hermione during your last year at school. I should have guessed right away that my brother was not the man she..." Her voice trailed off.   
  
"Hermione loved Ron," Harry said quietly. "Believe me...I was forced to come to terms with that on a rather intense scale courtesy of Vo...Malfoy."  
  
Ginny tilted her head to one side, silky red hair spilling over her shoulder. "Is that what's really upsetting you, Harry? Because you know my parents adore you and will always love Harry as their grandson no matter what."   
  
Harry nodded all too miserably for a man about to be married. "It's not so much what they had together. It's just..." He hesitated. "Malfoy killed Ron. And if he hadn't done it...I wouldn't be here today."   
  
"Oh, I see." A long moment followed as Ginny considered her next words. "I'm going to tell you something that you might not want to hear, Harry. But I think it needs to be said." After drawing in a breath, she continued. "Ron came to me once, shortly after he and Hermione were married, looking very much like you are right now. When I asked him what was wrong...he said, 'Ginny, she makes me so happy...but the only reason I get to be with her is because we don't have Harry with us anymore'."   
  
"Ron said that?"   
  
She bobbed her head ever so slightly. "It sometimes seems that something bad has to happen in order for something good to come about. To have what he had with Hermione, Ron lost you. To be with Hermione again, you lost Ron. It's all...mucked up and awful, but it's just life." Balancing her baby in one arm, Ginny walked forward and reached for his hand. "The three of you will always be tied together in spirit. It's something Draco Malfoy couldn't break, because it's something he couldn't understand if he tried for a hundred years. So get out there and marry her and don't even worry...because wherever he is, Ron would only be happy for you."   
  
"You're right." Harry squeezed her fingers lightly before dropping a kiss onto her forehead. "You really are the smart one out of the bunch, Ginny."   
  
Ron's sister winked at him. "Oh, I know." She backed out of the door. "I'll see you down there."   
  
Harry stood still for another moment after she left, collecting all the new thoughts in his head. When he couldn't think anymore, he took once last glance around Ron's old room. He was finally ready for whatever came next.   
  
****  
  
On May 15th, a pleasant spring day, in Molly Weasley's fragrant garden, with everyone who had ever been important to them in their lives thus far watching, Harry James Potter and Hermione Granger Weasley were married...at last, many of the guests were overheard saying.   
  
The bride wore white silk dress robes, quite unlike the lovely Muggle wedding gown she had worn several years earlier. She carried lilies in her hands, and her cheeks were rosy for the first time in weeks. When she spoke her vows, her words were clear and precise and without hesitation.   
  
In truth, the whole thing felt like a dream to Hermione, one of those dreams from which you hope you never wake. She hadn't thought it was possible to love her husband-to-be anymore...until she saw him standing at the end of the grass-carpeted aisle, waiting for her to join him. He was clearly nervous, but doing his best to hide it. Fortunately he had his godfather standing just behind him to give him a reassuring pat on his shoulder when she started walking towards him on her father's arm.   
  
She smiled halfway down the aisle, unable to keep it in any longer. They were entirely surrounded by people who loved them. Their old classmates from Hogwarts, their beloved teachers, friends, family. Their son.   
  
And Ron. He was there too, a lingering presence that was neither intrusive nor unwelcome. She almost felt like she could reach out and take his hand. He would always be there, she realized, watching out for her, watching out for the child he had loved as his own, and watching out for Harry who had, in some ways, been closer to him than his blood brothers. Her smile grew brighter as she reached her fiancee.   
  
The ceremony was simple. Vows from the heart, things that should have been said years earlier. An exchange of rings, plain silver for him and a single translucent pearl set into a matching band of silver for her. Only Harry knew that underneath her robes, she wore her other wedding band of gold and garnet on a chain next to her heart along with a pendant of rose quartz.   
  
When they kissed, there was a great round of applause led by their son...who had been prompted by his identical uncles. Molly Weasley and Hermione's mother both cried. Hagrid sniffed rather loudly. Dumbledore clapped, quiet approval and happiness in his ancient eyes. Even Snape, in the very last row, almost managed a genuine smile.  
  
Harry and Hermione broke apart too soon for their liking, exchanging a private smile. "I love you," he whispered, touching his forehead to hers.   
  
Her eyes shimmered brown-gold. "I love you, too, Harry. Always."   
  
****   
  
"Sixth year," Harry said out loud.   
  
Hermione frowned, propping her head up on her hand to look down at him. "What's that?"   
  
"You fell asleep in the common room." He turned his gaze up to the white-washed ceiling. "Studying. As usual." She swatted him playfully. "I had woken up in the middle of the night and I came downstairs to read...and there you were. Lying on the loveseat with your books half-open. You were drooling a little and..."  
  
"Oh, I was not!  
  
Laughing, he caught her indignant chin in his head. "Well, your skirt had ridden up on your thigh while you slept. And that's when I started thinking...I might like to be right here someday."   
  
"That's a truly touching story, Harry," she said dryly.   
  
"I was sixteen years old. Would you have expected me to turn away without another thought?"   
  
Hermione thought for a second, smiled and laid her cheek back down onto his bare chest. "I'm glad you didn't."   
  
A few blissful minutes passed as Harry played with a thick lock of her unkempt hair. "Thank you, Hermione."   
  
"For what?"   
  
Outside, he could hear waves lapping onto the shore; the bungalow they occupied was the only structure on an uncharted island somewhere in the South Pacific, the perfect place for a magical honeymoon. "For marrying me." Harry swallowed. "For forgiving me."   
  
Her fingers trailed up and down his ribs like delicate wings. "Do you want to know the first time I thought about you...you know...sexually?"   
  
"All right," he frowned. It was not the sort of response he had been expecting.   
  
"Fifth year." Hermione smiled. "I beat you by a year. Well, we were at breakfast the day of a Quidditch match and..."  
  
"What game was it?"  
  
She gently pinched him. "It's not important to the story, Harry. It's not even important to the story that you were wearing your Quidditch robes and those really form-fitting khaki..." Shaking her self out of the memory of that particular detail, she went on, "What made me...want you was this. You had done something really minor that made me kind of mad a few days earlier..."  
  
"It was versus Hufflepuff," Harry cut in. "I had accidently added too many lavender seeds to our potion in class and Snape gave you the worst grade you had probably ever received."   
  
"You remember all of that?"  
  
He nodded. "And we beat them by mile."  
  
Hermione hugged his waist with her arm. "You apologized to me, do you remember that? In front of everyone. Like it really mattered to you."  
  
"It did. You were *really* mad."   
  
"You've never been one to shirk away from responsibility. It made you so attractive to me that day. And the pants helped." Hermione sat up to see him better. "But what happened to our baby..." She slowly shook her head, her long hair brushing against her bare back and shoulders. "You can't keep taking all of the blame for it, Harry."  
  
He sat up too and faced off with her. "But I was the one who..."  
  
"Why do you insist on torturing yourself when there are so many better things we could be doing?" Hermione put her hands on her hips.   
  
"I'm not ready to accept...what I did," he replied, combing his hair back off his face  
  
Her eyes narrowed as she gave him another moment of self-indulgent moping. As soon as it was up, she pulled him into a full-body kiss. "Accept later. Live now."   
  
The sky outside had begun to be touched by the morning sun before they really spoke again. Harry kissed her soft neck and wrapped her up tighter in his arms. "Am I going to have to buy a pair of Quidditch pants?" he asked.  
  
"Yes," she replied, sleepily. "And Harry?"  
  
"Yeah?"  
  
"You didn't kill our baby. Voldemort did."   
  
He rested his chin on top of her soft bed of thick hair; she smelled like jasmine and roses. "Yeah." A parrot cawed on the other side of the bamboo-shaded window. "But he'll never get to do it to anyone else again." Harry reached behind and knocked on the head-board.   
  
Hermione laughed. "Good thinking."   
  
"Better safe than sorry."   
  
****  
  
The Great Hall of Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry fairly hummed with energy and excitement. Each of the four immense tables, which had only hours earlier stood empty, were crowded with hundreds of young students in black robes and pointed hats. They were chatting, shouting, laughing, giggling...waiting as patiently as possible.   
  
Harry watched them all from his place at the Professor's table. Not entirely unlike the students, he couldn't manage to keep still. His hands were clasped in his lap, but his thumbs circled each other as he fidgeted frantically.   
  
"It's windy out tonight," he blurted out. "What if the boats have tipped over or something?"   
  
Hermione turned to her husband, amused. "You are so adorable right now."   
  
"I'm just saying..." Harry set his hands on the table, palms down flat. "It doesn't take this long to cross the lake."   
  
"Yes, it does," she replied, covering his hand with one of hers. "He's perfectly fine, Harry. You saw him on the platform earlier. He couldn't wait to ditch us and get on the train."  
  
He nodded. "I know." Harry shifted in his chair to look at his wife better. "What House do you want to see him in?"   
  
"The House he's most suited to." Hermione leaned forward and gave him a quick kiss, a gesture that did not go unnoticed throughout the Hall. "Relax, love. It's out of our hands."   
  
Snape tapped the back of Harry's chair. "You do have an audience, in case you've forgotten." Hermione pulled back, a rose blush painting her cheeks. Harry threw the potions master a frown, before settling back, still holding Hermione's hand.   
  
Just then, the huge doors on the far side of the Hall opened; all conversations halted and every eye turned to see approximately forty little people file inside. Each child took in the floating candles, the enchanted ceiling, the intimidating presence of hundreds of their peers and Albus Dumbledore presiding over them all; their eyes grew large, most with awe, but some with fright.   
  
They followed Professor McGonagall through the long aisle and gathered around the foot of the steps that led up to the High Table. The Sorting Hat sat on a wooden stool set onto the steps, looking quite like a tired old hat.   
  
Harry didn't hear the Hat's song. All he could think about was the fact that at this exact moment one year earlier, he'd had nothing. His life had just been turned upside down by the grief of learning his best friend was dead, the startling knowledge that he had fathered a son who didn't know him and the fear that Hermione could never forgive or love him again.   
  
His searching eyes found little Harry in the crowd of first-years. Although he had been in the Great Hall many times, he had never seen it quite like this before. Awe glowed on his youthful face. Harry watched as his son looked at a boy beside him and said something. The other child nodded, grinning mischievously.   
  
**So, we've just got to try on the hat! I'll kill Fred, he was going on about wrestling a troll.**  
  
Everything was better now. Different, but better. But the loss of his best friend would never go away. It was even more painfully clear now, seeing his son making new friends. Just as he had found Ron almost two decades earlier.   
  
Hermione gripped his hand tighter. "They're starting, Harry."  
  
He blinked and concentrated on the Sorting Hat which was being placed on David Armstrong's head. A moment later, a new Slytherin joined his House. Harry and Hermione held hands as they watched the Ceremony, clapping particularly hard at each new Gryffindor. Everything went smoothly until Professor McGonagall called out, "Bronson Malfoy."   
  
Losing his father had visibly affected the blond child who stepped up to the Sorting Hat. His eyes no longer shone with malice and his hair was cut much shorter and spiky around his face. He sat completely still when the Hat was placed onto his head. There was a long pause, far longer than there had been for any child so far.  
  
"RAVENCLAW," the Hat finally announced, almost proudly.   
  
Amidst much whispering and muted clapping, Harry turned to look at Hermione. There was matching confusion and shock on her face. But after a second, she smiled. "Life isn't a picture," she told him, softly. "Things can change as they move."   
  
Harry pondered her words all the way up to the second he heard McGonagall say, "Harry Potter, Jr."   
  
A hush had fallen over the Hall at Bronson's name, but dead silence blanketed it at this. Harry sat up straighter, his heart thumping practically in his throat. Hermione's hand was suddenly cold as she too leaned forward a bit.   
  
The only person in the Hall who didn't seem affected by his name was little Harry himself. With a slightly nervous smile, he approached the stool and allowed the Hat to settle onto his red head.   
  
Harry held his breath during the seconds that followed. All he could see was his son's back and he certainly couldn't hear what was being whispered into the boy's ear. He had complete faith in the Hat to do the right thing...and he'd be proud of little Harry even if he were placed into Slytherin, but he couldn't help but hope...  
  
"GRYFFINDOR!"  
  
There weren't any words to express what went through Harry that moment. Happiness seemed too simple. Joy, too much Relief, too harsh. He settled on pride. Biased though he might be, he knew the Gryffindor House and he knew, beyond a shadow of a doubt, that little Harry belonged there.   
  
He felt Hermione's arms around him and returned the tight hug with kiss. Down the Hall a bit, their son joined the Gryffindor table, receiving handshakes and greetings and a quick, manly hug from his older cousin, Bill.   
  
Hermione studied him. "Were you worried?"  
  
"Not so much," Harry lifted one shoulder. "I'm just glad to be here. And to be a part of this."   
  
A slow smile crept onto her curvy lips. She leaned closer to him, bringing her mouth close to his ear as she spoke in the lowest of whispers for a minute. Anyone watching would have seen Harry Potter's jaw take a comic drop. Just as the Sorting Hat placed Rosalind Williams into Hufflepuff, bringing the ceremony to and end, he cried out, "Really?!"   
  
There was a twittering of laughter. Down the table from him, Dumbledore shook his head, highly amused. "Really, Harry." Winking at his Defense professor, he stood up and tapped his fork against his goblet. "Welcome to Hogwarts, new and old. To begin the term, I have only two announcements. One being..."  
  
Harry's attention was entirely on Hermione as Dumbledore spoke. "Are you certain?"  
  
She nodded. It had been so much easier to tell him this time around. "What is it about us, Harry? Put us together in a room and..."   
  
"Is it safe? I mean..." He touched her chin as he whispered, "Will everything be all right after..."   
  
"Madam Pomfrey said everything would be fine just this morning." Hermione's eyes misted over. "Her birthday will be in April."   
  
"Her birthday..." He blew out a breath and looked around, nervously. Hagrid winked at him before he glanced back at his wife.. "I really want to pick you up and swing you around, but..." He jerked his head towards the students.   
  
Hermione touched his cheek lovingly. "Later. When we tell Harry."   
  
Refusing to let go of her other hand, Harry forced his attention back to the Headmaster. She was right. Things did change. They changed and they moved. Second chances were given. Loss happened, but beginnings were created from it. And the heart, with all of its fire and passion, was an organ capable of withstanding anything.   
  
He found his son in the crowd of Gryffindors. Little Harry grinned and Harry returned the smile with similar enthusiasm. He only broke the stare to turn his eyes up towards the enchanted ceiling. The moon was full that night and the stars looked down on Hogwarts, protecting it as they had for centuries. And he was a part of it all once more.   
  
Dumbledore raised his hands. "Let the feast...begin."   
  
No, Harry thought. Let the journey begin.   
  
****  
  
The End  
  
****  
  
Author's Notes: And so, after a year and two months, we have come to the end of my very first Harry Potter fan fic. It has been a most interesting ride; for awhile there, I thought I might never finish it. I bet a few of you thought the same thing. But so many of you have stuck with the story and written such wonderful reviews. I really can't find the words to express my thanks, and words are my life. So, I'll just say, I appreciated each and every one of them.   
  
Sequels? I don't know. Someone gave me the idea to write a prequel. Something like Harry's adventures after he left, or the story of Ron and Hermione. I don't know. I'd actually like to step out of the world of this particular story and write something new. I have a few ideas; we'll see where they go;)   
  
I had so much fun writing this story. I can't even tell you. I have a feeling that when the fifth book comes out in June, everything I've written will be completely overturned;) Lol. And that's just the way it goes. So, enjoy the story until then! Cause after that, it will probably be an alternate universe. I just have a feeling.   
  
Once more, thank you. Keep writing, keep reading, keep dreaming;)   
  
Kristen Elizabeth  
January 24, 2003 


End file.
